Fate
by BiJane
Summary: Finale to the story of Changes, Light, Darkness, Mind Games, The Call and Loss. Hogwarts has lost its greatest and perhaps only hope of defeating Lord Voldemort; and the Dark Lord, with his impossible new powers, hungers for victory.
1. Burning

**Firstly, things are not as clear-cut as they seem. I wanted be dramatic, but it's by no means as simple as it looks. Still, I am fully allowed to tease.  
>This is more or less just an introduction, to make things dramatic. <strong>

**So, anyway, this is the seventh story, sequel to Changes, Light, Darkness, Mind Games, The Call, and Loss. Thanks to all of those who've read through them, and to anyone who's just opened this, you'll need to read the others to understand. **

**Enjoy!**

The blue box wheezed, groaned, until the time machine landed, once more without the Doctor's choice. The TARDIS moved of its own volition; taking the Doctor where it was he needed to go.

Time was in danger; the TARDIS could sense it, easily, and was willing to do all she could to save it. The Doctor would also; if only he knew.

The Time Lord yanked a lever on the console down, trying to fly away; an instant later, the TARDIS moved the lever back to where it had been before. Staying put on this unknown world.

The Doctor darted sideways, fingers skating along the scanner, before he groaned; "We need to see Amy!" the Doctor shouted up at the machine; emotions running riot through him, "She's in danger!" There was silence; not even a wheeze. Eventually, the Doctor slumped, speaking again to the machine, calmer; "Alright then, as long as you promise to take me straight to her, next."

A gentle groan; one the Doctor took to be an affirmative. Smiling at that, he turned around, walking to the TARDIS doors and letting them swing open.

Beyond was a truly beautiful world; covered entirely in ice and snow, huge, breathtaking formations, so awe-inspiring it was hard to believe they were purely natural. And there was more than just the visual beauty of frost; there was noise, a great song, cresting, like waves, like the ocean, pouring over him; such beautiful, beautiful music.

The Ood-Sphere.

Just steps away, the Doctor soon noticed, all-but concealed in the perpetual blizzard, was the Elder of the Ood, garbed in its normal, sanctified white robes, lifting its external brain to the level of its eye. The distinctive, duel-hemisphere cranium gave away the importance of this particular Ood; it moved closer to the Doctor with strange grace.

_Ah, Doctor. You have been awaited. The universe needs you; now, perhaps, more than ever. It is screaming; can you not hear it?_

The Doctor blinked; the Elder had not spoken a single word aloud; telepathy, once more, the Ood's' voice in his head. No, the voice of more than just the one Elder; so many of the Ood seemed to be partaking of the dialogue, even though he could see no others.

Around them, the Song of the Ood changed; an odd, harsher resonance entering the oft-peaceful melody. The Doctor span around, looking desperately for the source of the corrupted melody; the once-beautiful now tinged with darkness. It seemed to even be reflected in nature itself; the snowflakes whirled past, harsh, cold. More than before, wind whipping past.

_It burns; all the universe is burning, every planet, every atom, every person. Everything is burning: except of course, for one thing: there has always been one thing, just one thing that will never burn. The fire, Doctor; fire. It touches the whole of creation, sets all alight: everything burns, save for the one trigger_.

The Doctor stumbled, overwhelmed by the sudden cacophony of voices. He took a step forward, away from the open TARDIS, and towards the Elder of the Ood.

The Song grew louder.

Hesitant, the Doctor met the Elder's pale eyes. The expression of the Ood was almost emotionless; it was hard to read its face, the odd squid-like details, yet the eyes… Oh, the eyes. Pained, maybe even afraid, urging the Doctor to listen, perhaps even begging for help.

It was enough for the Time Lord; he stood, straighter now, extending a hand to aid the communication. The Elder tilted its head, observing for a few seconds before, still graceful, lifting its free hand, lightly touching the Time Lord's.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the odd, leathery feel of its skin, the creases, the inhuman cold, and the vice-like grip. And then the world was ripped away.

After the instant had passed, the Doctor stared forwards, feeling human skin on his hand. A pause; realizing the man holding his hand, the man just in front of him: was himself. Bow tie, tweed jacket, eyes closed and oddly quirky grin, despite the freezing snow. And one more change.

He was staring out the Ood's eyes, into the Ood-Sphere, the endless blizzard, the eternal ice. A psychic link; but was this truly how the aliens saw the world?

Fire. Just as the Elder had stated.

The fire was everywhere, burning; each snowflake embodied by a small flame around it, ghostly; a phantom blaze even sprouting from the lapels of his own jacket. The inferno raged, swirling around his body, a strange combination of burning red and mild indigo, a twister ascending so, so high from tousled hair. And yet he felt nothing.

The ground beneath his feet, softly shining; the burning present even on snow, occasionally cresting, sparks shooting high, waves of fire, undulating like the sea, a rise, a fall. If he tried, he could feel the heat, the flames licking at his heels, the ubiquitous burning.

The sky. Oh the sky. Just visible through the storm of blazing snow; fire streaked across it, no clouds visible, nor the true shade of the atmosphere. Just the indigo/crimson burning, ever-present, rolling so high above, from every speck of snow, from every piece of air.

The Doctor tore his hand away, unable to bear it any longer, in his own body once more as he gasped. The world was aflame, perhaps even more; yet he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it, without the impossibly time-sensitive Ood.

The snow beneath his feet was a cold white, the sky an endless pale of clouds. The Elder Ood before him, neutral, hand still reached out, though there was no imperative to take it.

_It burns Doctor; it burns with possibility. It burns for freedom, for what has been stolen, it burns against every death, and burns against the corruption of reality beginning so, so many years ago. The effects stretch all the way to here, Doctor: it has already happened, but has yet to take root: but we feel it, we feel the fire. _

The Time Lord hesitated, both awed and afraid by the news. Time had been changed? But to this degree, that was practically unheard of. No Reapers, so changes, corruptions must have been made at changeable points; but nothing known could predict each of those points, and make such a grand difference, enough to create this hell.

"But what," the Doctor began, taking in a breath, more than a little scared of the cause, "What caused this?"

The Elder Ood tilted its head once, lifting its external brain. The Time Lord tensed, ready for the telepathic message; one strangely gentle by comparison to the others, yet bearing more emphasis.

_One man's mistake. Just one man. He set the world, the Earth alight, and from there the fire spread: the universe burns with just three things. Darkness, corruption, and one word, one word repeated again and again, until all life has ceased, and even the possibility of it has faded. _

The Doctor paused, thinking over the words again in his head. Had that actually answered him? Didn't sound like it.

Still, the Time Lord stayed silent, thoughtful, trying to comprehend the messages from the Ood; they were constrained by what they could tell, hints read from the timeline, and what they could say without damaging time yet further.

"Who?" the Doctor began, frowning, "What man, and what word?" Voice urgent, needing answers, especially to these questions.

The Ood met his eyes, lowering its brain. It was not going to speak; the Doctor could see that all too quickly. Whether its silence was due to a lack of knowledge, or due to unknown rules, the Doctor could not tell.

And the Elder raised its hand once more, slow, smooth, palm facing up; gesturing for the Doctor to take it once more.

Around them, the Song of the Ood burned with yet greater intensity, traces of the once-divine beauty lost, replaced by something angrier, something harsh; maybe even afraid. A choir of voices, in warning, in fear, in urgency; if only he could read the purpose behind them.

The Doctor touched the Ood's hand once more.

The fire was once again visible, burning from peak to peak, violent, raging, through the empty air and crossing vast gaps with terrifying, impossible ease. But this was not the Ood-Sphere; he was being treated to their sights, their prophecies that parted the veil of time and space.

The landscape changed, smooth, yet sudden; no sense of displacement. And they were looking down on a vast lake; a planet of purely water, gradually moving away, viewing the rise and fall of the tides, the very face of the very world morphing. And still it burned, burned with that same spectral flame; yet it was unlike and real fire, it was an inferno of potential, or corrupted time, a perpetual burning; a dimension of time itself aflame.

One more world; trees, ivy, brambles, full of life. Filled still with the spectral fire; and yet, it seemed somehow greater, brighter. The flame reached a crest; a flash of light, white light, directed, and there was real fire. Real flame; a jet of white light, aimed specifically. A creature fell from a distant, tall tree, struck my the white light and now lifeless. The whole forest burned now; burning with real fire, and that real fire ablaze with the spectral inferno of corrupted time.

A horribly familiar silhouette in the firelight.

The Doctor went pale; and yet another world appeared. Another place viewed by the Ood, burning with the same conflagration, the same ethereal blaze from every atom, searing time. A creature; some great titan, a huge, beautiful creature, fell. The white light once more.

The Doctor fell to the floor of the Ood-Sphere, overwhelmed, gasping at the knowledge, the power of the Ood; and on top of that, the things he'd seen… Incredible, and impossible.

The Elder lowered its hands, unwilling to subject the Doctor to any more of their visions; yet its mental voice spoke.

_Your companion. You placed her in false time. The time as would happen in the fire. Even now, she burns. Return to her, protect her from the changes to the universe, and hope to cure time. We have seen what comes should the burning spread. _

There was no need to touch the Doctor; the Song, now tragic, with an unusually harsh edge, painted the image perfectly.

There was darkness; that was the Song now. An ode to darkness, and to utter emptiness, complete void. Then the instants, moments where the Song was almost painful to behold, warning, the darkness within the darkness. Life, the last life, perhaps even the only life to have ever existed.

The Doctor shuddered at the thought alone, feeling the Elder of the Ood speak once more.

_The Word was spoken, and as soon as it sounded, it echoed, and echoed, and echoed, until all that could be heard was just that noise, a haunting, terrible grating noise: the intensity even overwhelming the other senses. _

The Doctor soon felt it, the 'Word', the word that thrummed within the spectral fire; he reached out, lightly touched the Elder's hand-

And was overcome. The Ood looked into the eternal inferno, and the word came out of it, spoken so, so often it became embedded in the corrupted timeline, the ethereal burning shouting the Word in so many pitches, so many intensities; yet always, the same, ugly grating.

The noise could be seen, smelt tasted, felt all the way to the bone, making the Doctor fall away from the Elder's hand; eyes wide, face pale. The word still echoed in his head. The inhuman, pitiful grating, even as the Time Lord turned to run to the TARDIS, to fly to Earth, save Amy from the corruption, whatever it may be, and do whatever he could to prevent the fire. And all the while, the Word resounded in his mind.

_Exterminate._


	2. World of Ruin

**First, remember it's not as simple as it seems.  
>Second, have another chapter! A few hints for the continuing story, and a mild cliffhanger. Because I'm evil. Enjoy!<strong>

The TARDIS landed with a clutter, oddly accurate, and the Doctor stumbled out, looking around madly for Amy. She had to be here. The blue box had landed in her garden once more, near where the shed should be standing, her house visible; and now his eyes searched, he could see fire on the horizon. Real fire; as well as flashes, curses, magic performed so blatantly.

Magic? What did that have to do with…them?

The Doctor paused for an instant just outside his time machine; closing his eyes in an effort to see the same way as the Ood. It took a little concentration, but knowing what he was looking for, the Time Lord soon found it; a lick of spectral warmth along the back of his neck, around his ankles. Eyes open now; fire unseen, but he'd felt it for just that second.

This wasn't the end of things. Time was still morphing, even now; the chaotic world as he saw now, the flames, the spells, it was just a precursor to whatever hell _they _had in mind.

Rushing on, the Doctor tumbled into Amy's house, shouting her name, looking up and down the stairs; urgent, and praying he wasn't too late, or early for that matter. It took him about half a minute to look in each room, swinging over, up and around the banisters every time he neared them, for fun as much as anything.

"_Morsmordre!_" The Doctor went pale as he heard a voice shout the curse; the Dark Mark, put up over domains, where the Death Eaters had killed. Urgent, the Time Lord jumped through an already shattered window.

It was his first real glimpse of this timeline; and it was horrible. The Ministry of Magic seemed to have already fallen, there was no attempt to fix things, to hide the events from the screaming, running Muggles. The occasional robed dark wizard darted through the sky, outlined by fire, throwing spells down on the world below, laughter echoing. One levitated a Muggle far below, amused as she screamed, flailed; before flinging her down, through the roof of a house.

Fire on almost every building, screams from those that still harboured life. The Doctor didn't even want to know how this situation had come about; but it looked as if Voldemort had won, well and truly, and now the Muggles and other Wizards were there, simply for his sport. In the distance, a giant could be seen lumbering down the street, huge fists smashing through the walls and buildings.

"Amy!" the Doctor shouted again, urgent, looking through the garden in the eerie illumination of the Dark Mark far above. Please say- she couldn't be dead, it couldn't be her they'd killed. He'd come back for her; and he did not do that often.

An odd feeling of relief flooded through him, as he moved to the side of the house. There was a Death Eater there, one he didn't instantly recognize; a woman, no, a girl, holding Amy and her father at wand-point. Amy's mother lay on the ground; Amy was shaking, but not from sadness. An odd, inexplicable anger ran through her.

"Stop it!" the redhead shouted; even the Doctor paused at her fury. "Just stop, go away."

"Why?" the young Death Eater's voice was truly chilling; they were just over twenty, but they seemed younger, voice utterly devoid of feeling.

The Doctor recognized her; it was a First Year, a Hufflepuff, a nice girl, he'd seen her when last at Hogwarts. By 2011, she was…this? It seemed hard to believe. Still, best to be sure. Still, just about, unnoticed, the Doctor clicked his sonic screwdriver on, disrupting any magic they were planning to perform.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" the young Death Eater shrieked. Nothing; the Doctor gave a grim smile, walking forward, presence acknowledged for the first time. "Who are you?" the girl span around, wilting a little beneath the Doctor's stare.

"I'm the Doctor," he stated simply, then, predicting what title she'd know him by; "The Oncoming Storm. I'm here to make sure none of this world ever happens; and you've just tried to kill my friend. I'll give you one bit of advice, and just that one."

The young Death Eater raised her wand, tremulous, seemingly oblivious to the fact no spells were working. She stared, defiantly up; yet shaking as the Doctor glared. Ever since he'd given his identity.

"Run," the Time Lord spoke, soft, not angry at all, almost gentle.

And yet the young witch obeyed; dropping her wand gladly as she fled. The Doctor stared after her for several more seconds, before looking back at the last two Ponds. A strangely soft smile.

"Hello Amy," he nodded once, watching the uncharacteristic ferocity drain from her features, her eyes slowly widening.

"It's you," she murmured, quiet. "It's really you."

"How long have I been?" the Doctor's voice was quietly inquisitive. Almost afraid.

"Just three days," Amy spoke, voice still soft. "A long three days," she began explaining the situation, knowing the Doctor would want one; "People have known about the Harry Potter world for years, apparently. Ever since V- You-Know-Who flew into London and obliterated Buckingham Palace and Parliament. Now there are shields around every town, he's turned it into some kind of game, all the wannabe Death Eaters run riot, it's sick, and we can't get out. We've tried. There's the occasional Order of the Phoenix survivor, just running through. But," Amy hesitated, "They say Harry's dead."

The Doctor paused; momentarily off-guard. He'd almost forgotten Amy hadn't been with him; the Time Lord brought himself to nod, most of his mind aghast at the situation.

"He-" Amy cut herself off, distracted, quiet, "They keep talking about the Prophecy. Without Harry, You-Know-Who will never die."

Still, the Time Lord was silent. It was something that hadn't occurred to him; yet something so, so important. He couldn't save Harry, not now; the boy's death had become part of events. But then, what could defeat Voldemort?

Amy's father followed them, Time Lord and redhead, towards the blue box in the garden. Amy had held onto the Death Eater's wand, from some strange instinct.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" another voice; a man's now, as a Death Eater darted past on a broom, jumping off to glare at the trio. Amy's father fell to the ground, struck by the curse; a grimace behind the wizard's metal mask. "A-"

Amy threw the wand she'd stolen up at the Death Eater, making him stumble over his words; and in a fit of frightening aggression, she grabbed him, successfully pulling him from the broom. The Time Lord blinked; completely shocked by the savage action.

Amy wasn't sad; somehow she'd left that behind, an inexplicable rage burning through her. Anger. The wizard fell to the floor; her hands, nimbly, moved straight to his hand; yanking the wand from his grasp, feeling an odd revulsion at the action; not at the violence, but at her proximity.

A split second later, wand in her hand, she pressed it to the Death Eater's pale throat, eyes wide, breath coming faster now, heavy. "Crucio!" It wasn't a spell; yet her lips easily formed the curse, impossibly comfortable with it.

Her first thought was a grim satisfaction at the panic in her victim's eyes. Her second, was a sadness at how the curse had failed. A split second of furious thought; no thought of compassion, of the Doctor's fearful eyes on her; she snapped the wand, pressing her hand to the wizard's throat-

"Amy." Soft, quiet voice. The Doctor's; his hand rested gently on her shoulder.

That was enough. A tremor ran through the redhead; she backed away quickly, scrambling along the ground, watching the wide-eyes attacker. Had she- No, he was still alive. But her hands still felt stained with blood.

The Time Lord grasped her hand, lightly pulling her up; still whispering her name, again and again. The Death Eater stared at them; more than a little afraid of the wildness he'd glimpsed in Amy's eyes.

The two fell into the TARDIS, Amy collapsing onto the grating while the Doctor, strangely shaken, ran to the console. The redhead stayed, breathless, near the door. Shaking.

She could still feel the wizard's clammy throat beneath her hand, feel the wand tightly gripped, her lips peeling back to utter the torturous incantation; and worst of all, she could remember the exultation she'd felt as she did so.

O

It wasn't easy to land at Hogwarts. The Doctor had already scanned and found temporal disturbances rife; he'd had the same trouble last year, and not solely because of the Angel. He hadn't been able to land easily, so much displacement occurring in the time vortex itself.

Time was ripping at the seams over the castle; it was a struggle to land the TARDIS properly, indeed, they waited in the vortex for what felt like hours, all the while with the engines grinding, as the blue box tried to force its way into the world outside the vortex.

"What's happening to me?" Amy spoke, just about audible over the grinding.

"Hm?" The Doctor muttered, looking back over his shoulder as he continued running around, fiddling with the column

"Back then," the redhead hesitated, wincing at the memories. "That _wrong_ future. I c-couldn't control myself. I tried to- well, you say. I pulled him off his broom, tried to," she cut herself off, hating the knowledge of what her hand had done.

"I," the Doctor paused, spinning away from the console to sit next to the redhead; she needed comfort, it seemed, and only he was there to give it. They needed Rory back, however impossible it was. "I don't know," the Time Lord at last confessed. "Maybe it was the strain. Everyone has a breaking point; maybe-"

"It wasn't me," Amy muttered suddenly, anxious to deny any connection to the sadistic exultation she'd felt. "I wouldn't…"

The Doctor hesitated, looking back. She was right; he couldn't picture Amy doing anything like that. She'd been almost primal, savage; a look in her eyes that made even him falter.

"I know," the Doctor said, turning to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Believe me, I know."

Amy hesitated, about to speak; when a sudden grinding ran through the TARDIS; then a shudder, rotor drawing into the console, and the movement almost throwing them off the chair. A momentary silence; before the Doctor quickly got to his feet, concern for the time machine overpowering his concern for Amy. The doors swung open, the Doctor barrelled out through them; to see a plain, green field.

Quiet, nervous, Amy followed, moving behind where the Time Lord stood, still, shocked.

"This isn't Hogwarts," she said dryly; attempting to regain some of her humorous scepticism.

No castle was visible; just an empty, green field. Completely empty, a hill, a few clouds along a dull sky, but not even a single stone, let alone the grand castle of Hogwarts.

A matter of seconds passed; the Doctor twirled, ran to the console, and smacked a button; a beep, before it revealed the coordinates.

"We're on Earth," the Doctor shouted, as Amy turned, shutting the door. "Definitely old Earth. Right time, right, um, continent…I think. But nowhere near the castle," he banged the console; "Nope," a sigh; "Nowhere near the right place. Vortex is too damaged to travel through."

"What?" Amy frowned, beginning to slowly walk towards the Time Lord. Confused. She was doing her best to stay distracted, but it wasn't working.

A little silence as the Doctor frowned, peering at the screen, twirling a sparkling device, and slapping the glass. There as a protesting groan, and dials clicked into place.

"Time," the Doctor muttered to himself, frustrated. "Time's still too damaged; no way to get the TARDIS in there."

The Time Lord grinned; mind whirring. The Ood's warning still in his mind; that word, that all-too familiar grating voice, the threat, the statement. _Exterminate_. He shuddered, scooping up his coat, false cheerful.

"We're going to have to walk there," he flashed a smile.

O

Hogwarts under the rule of the Dark Lord. Headmaster Severus Snape, a thinly veiled substitute for Voldemort; with Death Eaters employed as several other members of staff.

The DA had fallen last year. A schism at Harry's inclusion of Draco, at using his advice to face the invasion of Death Eaters. The many who had walked out had formed a clique, supposedly resisting Death Eater control, though they did little else but talk; Snape and the others knew of their existence, yet tolerated them from amusement. Zacharias Smith led the remnants of the DA; more had left upon his reformation, leaving them uncoordinated, weak.

Those who had gone with Harry last year were Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Colin and Michael. Ron and Hermione had died earlier that year; an event resulting in a day's holiday throughout the castle.

Strangely on that day, McGonagall had not been seen; and, completely unrelated naturally, during the Feast at dinner, every chair belonging to a supporter of Voldemort, students and staff alike, had turned into a sabre tooth tiger.

Colin had died in the duel with the attacking Dark Wizards, and Michael Corner had fled the school upon the first day; during which a speech had been given, attacking the 'Undesirables', such as the still-at-large members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as celebrating the deaths of previous foes of Voldemort; Sirius, Dumbledore, and Ginny. Michael hadn't been since, the Whomping Willow had been burnt to a cinder, the passage beneath it (existence of which told to much of the DA by Harry, along with several other passages) caved in, and the Shrieking Shack had also fallen.

"Luna," Neville's voice, startlingly strong, drifted through the corridor. The pale blonde Ravenclaw drifted along the stone floor; bemused as ever, un-reacting; yet she turned, to move towards the source of the voice.

No one noticed nor cared about her change of direction. They'd learnt not to try and figure out what Luna was doing; she was random much of the time. And so, the pale-haired girl stopped just by the Room of Requirement; and as soon as seeing no one was watching, she stepped inside.

Neville was the only other in there; bare stone floors, a fairly small chamber. There were two chairs and a table; one chair made from crimson silk, the other from a deep blue velvet. Luna sat beside the Gryffindor; she rested upon the blue.

"Hello Neville," she spoke neutrally, chiming; her eyes wandered around the room.

The walls were blank stone, grey, smooth; the floor was similar. The roof, not far above, was slightly domed, yet still the same shade of grey. Besides the two chairs, the plain, wooden table lay unadorned; save for a piece of yellowing parchment, covering scrawls of ink.

"Luna," Neville began; relieved. A pause; "Thanks for coming."

"Any time," a dreamy sigh. She tilted her head, peering at the Gryffindor; Neville couldn't help but feel a little unsettled at the wide-eyed stare.

"We're the only ones left," the boy spoke, slightly hesitant. "The last of the DA. We have to do something."

"Like what?" Luna wasn't interrogative; merely lightly curious. She didn't say much at once, tending to ignore the depth of the situation.

The Gryffindor didn't respond allowed; instead lifting the parchment from the table. He rested it on his lap, showing the girl the ink atop it; scrawls, walls, a map of Hogwarts; footsteps wandering down the corridors, visible animated, each labelled with a familiar name.

"Someone gave me this," Neville said; strangely soft. "Don't know who, probably Flitwick or Sprout, one of the sympathetic teachers. Came with a note, instructions of how to use it; it says it's 'The Marauder's Map', whatever that means. Moony, Worm-tail, Pad-foot, Prongs and River made it. A complete map of Hogwarts, real time. Shows where everyone is."

Luna hesitated, examining the Map. Her eyes skated over the Common Rooms, noticing the people she knew, and several others, some teachers, and some others. The whole population of Hogwarts; her eyes soon moved to the Headmaster's Office.

Snape was in there, naturally. He paced from wall to wall, occasionally pausing, gesturing to a figure apparently in the office with him.

It was this figure Neville pointed to; the small, inked scrawl describing it named him as _Tom Riddle_.

"That's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Luna murmured, effortlessly falling into the school rule demanding no one used his real names. "He's in the castle now."

"Exactly," Neville nodded. "He's here, right now. That's why I called you here."

"You want to do something to him?" Luna looked up.

She tilted her head; still not really questioning, she'd guessed the answer already, she just preferred doing this, keeping the conversation going. Already, she was thinking of what to do. The gargoyle leading to the Office was easy to get past, it seemed fond of the days of Dumbledore and often aided any pranksters. Snape had already dealt with practical jokes of the harmless and not-so-harmless varieties. They needed to be quick though, catch him by surprise. A duel wouldn't end well.

"Of course," Neville said; looking up. Eyes burning.


	3. Last of the DA

**This chapter's not my best, I don't think, but hopefully things will really start to get going by the next one. The build up took longer than I thought.  
>As a side note, seeing the last film on Sunday!<br>In any case, enjoy! **

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood crept along the winding corridor, towards the Headmaster's Office. Quickly now; while Voldemort was still inside. They couldn't have much longer; but the risk was unquestionably worth it. If they could only get in, Harry could rest in peace.

Neville raised his finger to his lips as they reached the gargoyle. It stiffly nodded, once; and drew back. Wands in hand, Luna and Neville stepped onto it, close, waiting impatiently as they ascended.

Seconds later they were in Snape's Office, once Dumbledore's. The greasy haired Death Eater was just visible; as soon as they stepped forwards. And a curl of a black robe, just a step closer.

"_Stupefy!_" Luna was the first to react, stunning Snape; the new-headmaster had noticed them, reaching for his wand as he fell, stunned.

Lord Voldemort stood a matter of steps from the falling Snape. Turning within a split second; wand now in his pale hand.

"_Stupefy!_" Neville was the next to shout, an odd, righteous rage in his voice. The curse dissipated against a non-verbal shield charm; the Dark Lord stared at them, unpitying.

The next few seconds seemed to be an eternity. Neville, Luna still standing, and wands in hand; facing just Lord Voldemort, his wand in hand and raised. A glare.

"I was expecting better," a disappointed, high, cruel voice. Silence. Neville lunged, confrontational, wand outstretched, a curse on his lips-

A ripple of air through the office. Voldemort's wand twitched; an almost unnoticeable movement. His thin lips remained still. Silent. Yet the enchanted air rushed forwards, almost sentient as it whirled around Neville's wand, squeezing, picking it up and throwing it, violently, until it clattered against the back wall, very nearly snapped. Neville hesitated, lowering his arm; now defenceless.

The Dark Lord gave a cruel smile. Another flick of his wand; and before Luna could react, her wand was also flung against the back wall. Luna and Neville just stared, now unarmed, at Voldemort.

Their attempt had failed. As the last remnant of the DA, the last group truly dedicated to Harry's memories, they'd come into the Office, knowing Voldemort was there. And had failed to defeat him. Even Snape was merely stunned.

One second ticked past.

"Now what?" Neville said; almost demanding, acting unafraid. He met the pale wizard's eyes.

Lord Voldemort hissed; a curiously snake-like gesture. So like the reptiles he spoke to. With careful ease, the tip of his wand moved in a circle; a brief spark of light. And then the Dark Lord lowered his wand.

Neville and Luna considered moving, fleeing perhaps; but there was something in Voldemort's gaze that convinced them otherwise. Something cruel, indifferent, yet resolute. In the time it took them to take one step, he could lift one skeletal arm, and fire the killing curse.

Seconds ticked past.

In a sudden, lashing motion, the Dark Lord raised his wand; a flash; "_Legilimens!_"

Luna had only a vague recollection of the incantation. She'd heard it mentioned in one of Harry's vague 'classes' last year. The DA meetings. However, she couldn't give any details on the spell, not the effect, nor the counter jinxes.

Yet Voldemort attempted to probe her mind; though, quite subconsciously, she was able to resist, her random mind sending distracting neurons firing, her natural dreaminess resulting in a lack of any cohesive thought. The Dark Lord hissed, unable to gain any useful information.

Something akin to rage burned through the Dark Lord; he turned his attention to Neville. Less than a second had passed.

Neville however had researched the curse; he'd learnt what he could about the Death Eaters, and this spell was among those. It rummaged through a person's thoughts, found the ideas that the caster sought. And the only way to resist was incredibly complex; utter focus on something unrelated.

His thoughts went to his Gran; a frown as a stray thought caused distraction, though he did keep trying, ignoring any emotions, any fear. Carefully, his thoughts returned to his Gran, a distraction from the present, feeling emotion start to drain from him. Ideal.

But there were still bursts, flashes. _Room of Requirement, Harry. Dumbledore's Army._

"My Lord?" a new, drawling voice distracted both Neville and Voldemort; ending the curse an instant before Neville's crude, imperfect Occlumency was overcome.

It was Draco Malfoy; stepping from the gargoyle, rubbing his forearm where the dark Mark burned. "You summoned me?" he spoke oddly formally, eyes focusing on Voldemort despite two, quick, sideways glances to Neville and Luna.

"Ah, Draco," the Dark Lord spoke in scarcely more than a whisper, "You know these two?"

Neville flashed a hateful look back at the blonde; as far as he knew, Draco was the reason Dumbledore had been killed, and was a genuine Death Eater. Not that he pretended to fully understand Malfoy's motivations, but the murder of Dumbledore was enough to cause hatred.

"Of course," Draco spoke with a sneer, "Longbottom and Loony Lovegood. Potter's friends."

"They appear…less than willing to accept my control of the school," Voldemort's voice sounded almost delicate, almost gentle if not for the content of his speech. "I have seen Longbottom's mind, and there are thoughts of an organization built to oppose me. Dumbledore's Army."

Luna felt an echo of happiness; as strong as emotion as she generally expressed. The Dark Lord had too much ego, he wasn't willing to admit that he failed to read Neville's mind completely, though he might have, given a second more. He didn't know the DA had split.

To him, Dumbledore's Army was as real and organized a sit had been upon founding.

"May I be permitted to interrogate them?" Malfoy's tones were harsh, almost spitting out the words. Neville tensed at the violence inherent; not from fear, at least not fear he'd admit, but from a dislike of the blonde.

"Why would you wish that?" a deceptively mild, question from the Dark Lord.

"I seek only to prove myself to you," Draco nodded his head once, never taking his eyes from the three others in the room. He all but ignored the stunned Snape.

Voldemort looked up, silent for a moment, as he stared into Draco's eyes. Draco stared back, unblinking; even as the master of the Death Eaters gripped his wand, tighter.

"You have proven yourself upon the tower," Voldemort spoke, conjuring the images of Dumbledore falling once more in Neville's mind, "But Lord Voldemort does reward loyalty. If it is your wish." A dismissive gesture.

Draco Malfoy nodded once; and lifted his wand before Luna or Neville could react. Cords formed in the air around them, moving closer and binding the duo tightly together, thin ropes giving little freedom of movement. Then, as a quick afterthought, Draco twirled his wand again; another cord rising up, muffling their mouths, preventing any intelligible speech. Draco nodded at them once, levitating the, horizontal.

"Thank you, my Lord," the blonde bowed his head to Voldemort, still never removing his eyes from that pale frame.

Forearm still prickling from the Dark Mark, Malfoy left the room, pace ever-so-slightly quicker than normal, with the two last DA members levitated along behind him. In his hand, he held two wands he'd subtly summoned; one belonging to Luna, one to Neville.

They encountered no one in the corridors; a fact Draco was glad of, otherwise he'd have to find another excuse for the bound duo, and he'd taxed his deceitful side enough in the Office. Eventually, he turned into an abandoned classroom, far from any current classes; and levitated Neville and Luna onto a desk, twirling his wand and dissolving the ropes.

The students fell from the desk, soon righting themselves, Luna taking a little longer. Neville glared at the blonde, tensed; caught completely off guard when Draco threw them their wands back, though he caught it nonetheless.

"About time you two tried something," Draco sat down on a nearby chair, completely at ease despite the duo's wariness. "I could hardly seek you out."

"What do you mean?" Neville, still distrusting, raised his wand, pointing it at Draco. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, self-assured that Neville wouldn't fire a single harmful curse.

"I could hardly seek you out, could I?" Draco rolled his eyes; "Oh, right, you don't trust me. I've been helping you enough; that Map of yours, the Death Eaters picked it up from where they killed Harry. Who'd you think gave it to you? Pettigrew knows all about it. And how'd you think Corner escaped?"

"You've been helping us?" Luna chimed; she didn't seem to agree or disagree, merely state, a curious note in her dreamy tones.

"Of course," the blonde rolled his eyes, impatient. "Isn't that obvious? You can't just flee from Hogwarts, ever wondered how Michael Corner did? He's not that good; needed some of my…privileges to get to the Willow. He's joined up with Fred and George now, they've got a resistance radio program, annoying the Death Eaters a lot," a bitter chuckle.

"Annoying you, you mean?" it was Neville again; deliberately confrontational, dislike of Malfoy increasing second by second. His cockiness, added to the fact he'd killed Dumbledore: a fact the DA had witnessed.

"I'm not with them," Draco rolled his eyes, "Not by choice at any rate," he bared his forearm, Dark Mark visible and making the student flinch, "I told you how much I've helped you. If you think you could've done without the Map-"

"Didn't achieve much," Neville cute in

"It did," Draco muttered, "How else could I have spoken to you? I needed a cover."

A momentary pause; the pale blonde and the dark haired man regarded Malfoy, the former almost thoughtless, yet oddly critical; Neville with open dislike.

"We only have your word for it," Neville spoke, momentarily irritable, "And we've seen you kill. It's your fault Dumb-"

"Don't speak about what you don't understand," Draco's eyes flashed, raising his voice for the first time.

Longbottom flinched for a moment, surprised by the flash of anger, though he knew he should've been expecting it. He stayed silent however, not from a lack of things to say, but from a lack of how to express them. Slowly, Draco calmed, before speaking again, levelly, drawling ever-so-slightly, a habit he'd almost grown out of.

"You want proof?" Draco said, firm. "I can tell you things you shouldn't know; for example, the Dark Lord's allies, only supposed Death Eaters have heard of it. And only he's actually seen it, but apparently it's helped him. Hear about the dragon-slayings along the coast? That's how he managed it. Impossible with conventional magic. Or how about how your little attack was utterly pointless?"

"Why would that be?" Neville's words were normal, almost calm, yet his voice, despite being controlled, seemed to be demanding a duel. He clenched his wand, keeping it trained on Draco.

"Horcruxes," the blonde said simply.

There was a moment of silence. Draco sat, still calm, still secure, arms casually to the sides of his chair, wand hanging loosely from two fingers. A frown from Neville, and Luna tilted her head, neither understanding the term.

"What's a Horcrux?" it was Luna who spoke, again not interrogative. Merely curious, dreamy.

"Dark magic," Draco replied, voice quiet, solemn, "Very dark magic. A wizard can tear up his or her soul, and put the fragments in separate objects. One thing he keeps talking about, is immortality. The Dark Lord is scared of two things, Dumbledore, and death, and he's banished both, or thinks he has."

"You're saying V-" Neville began

"Don't say the name," Draco snapped suddenly, a flash of irritation. "There's a Taboo. Say it, and you'll have the Death Eaters down on us."

"Death Eaters like you?" Neville was once more confrontational. He raised his wand, faltering somewhat as he saw Draco's complete ease, complete lack of fear.

"We're back at this again?" the blonde was impatient, "I'm not one by choice, and stop thinking that I am. If you don't support him, why are you at his school?"

Neville began to speak, then hesitated. He instinctively felt distrust of Draco, due to the death of Dumbledore, unquestionably, but found it increasingly hard to respond to the Slytherin's arguments.

"So, _You-Know-Who_ has these Horcrux-things, is that what you're saying?" Neville tried to sound mistrustful, even angry, though he could not disguise the interest, the curiosity in his voice.

"Exactly, finally," the blonde sighed, "Seven, to be exact. One in himself, then the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake, one other, and then Harry and the ring, both gone."

"Harry?" Luna tilted her head, murmuring, "He was a lore box?"

"And what's this 'one other'?" Neville continued from Luan's question, adding something he was wondering.

Draco rolled his eyes; so many questions, no wonder the DA never really got anything done, if they kept quizzing. It shouldn't be that hard to understand.

"Horcrux," the blonde repeated firmly, "And that's a long story. I don't know what the one other is," Draco winced at the confession of a lack of knowledge, "He didn't tell me."

"Who?" Neville was suddenly on guard. Draco met the Gryffindor's eyes, then, shrugged and, with the full knowledge of the word's effect, let the name drop.

"Dumbledore."

A blink; even Luna seemed drawn out from her reverie. Silence as the last two of the DA paused to stare at the blonde.

The headmaster had spoken to Draco, had told him this? The headmaster who Draco had killed? A moment's pause; Neville especially harboured a dislike of Draco stemming from the headmaster's death, yet the blonde's words still seemed likely. Unbidden, the memory returned.

_The DA duelling, shield, curse, a steady rhythm against the Death Eaters. And they could glance behind: Draco Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore. _

_The Slytherin had his wand pointed forwards; hand shaking. The bearded wizard watched, tranquil; he stepped forwards, closer to the blonde, past his pale hand. Unheard whispers; Dumbledore's mouth by Draco's ear, speaking. No one heard; yet as the headmaster stepped back, quite some time later, he seemed somehow more resigned, a twitch of pain in his eye. _

_Malfoy was shaken. Paler, if that were possible; watching the headmaster spread his arms, pale, elderly hands out to his sides. The blonde, shaking still, gripped his wand yet tighter-_

They didn't want to remember any more. Too painful. It was enough to haunt them however, enough to make even Neville pause long enough for Draco to notice, and continue.

"As much as I'm happy to keep talking about this," blatant sarcasm, "there are still Death Eaters out there. This is hardly the best place to talk." The blonde levitated the Marauder's Map, tapping it with his wand and examining the corridors. No one near them, yet.

"We should leave," Luna murmured, quiet. She was surprisingly involved in the conversation, though she didn't act it; she was contemplating the words spoken more than the others as she focused on little else.

Malfoy nodded, almost absently waving his wand, muttering a quick charm. The bricks in the wall folded away; the same charm that enchanted the entrance to Diagon Alley, only now applied to this wall. A jagged hole exposed the grand grounds of the school; they were in a room quite a way up, above a courtyard.

"It's not gonna be that easy to escape Hogwarts," Neville spoke, intent on giving some resistance, "Not meant to be possible."

"Not _meant_ to be," Draco emphasized, "Most is for show. And that's a post-NEWT level charm, You-Know-Who taught me it, pretty handy for getting into and out of places."

"Right," Neville murmured, still irritable, walking over to the new hole in the wall. He looked out, over the grounds, the castle walls and courtyards far below. "What are we supposed to do, sprout wings?"

"That's another things," Draco said, standing, pacing to behind Neville: Luna watched from a small distance back. "No one ever thinks like a wizard," Malfoy finished his statement and, before anyone could react, the blonde pressed a hand to Neville's back, and pushed.

The Gryffindor had just enough time to widen his eyes, before he fell from the tower; wind whipping his robes, the pale Slytherin looking down.

In the room, Luna, surprisingly, reacted; gripping her wand, pointing it at Draco with odd aggression. The blonde looked back; rolling his eyes, evidently amused by the fatal predicament. He chuckled as he met Luna's eyes; a touch of darkness.

"Don't worry," the blonde muttered, casting a sideways glance to see how close Neville was to the ground. Very close. Draco stuck his arm out the hole, still facing Luna; "_Wingardium Leviosa_. It's a simple enough spell, no one ever thinks of it," Draco kept talking to Luna as Neville was slowly levitated up the tower. The Gryffindor glared furiously at Draco, when he was once more level with the gap.

"Is that enough to make you trust me?" Malfoy tilted his head; not giving them a chance to speak. "I'd hope so, I've had a chance to do you harm. Now there's no way you'll get through the grounds unseen, but there's a Port-key in Alecto's office, and he'll be in class about now."

"I-" Neville began; cut off. Draco, bored now, twirled his wand, levitating Neville startlingly fast, to a distant window ledge. Then, upon being satisfied Longbottom had his balance, he released the Gryffindor; watching quickly as he climbed in through the glass.

"What's the Port-key look like?" Luna murmured, again more or less disinterested. She gave little sense of being affected by the issues at hand.

"Snake tooth," Draco shrugged, flicking his wand up and magically lifting Luna.

O

Minutes later, Luna and Neville, now without Draco, found themselves whirling through the unsettling transition of a Port-Key; and then, they were in a fairly dingy, dark cellar. Stone walls, curved stone ceiling, tarnished with dirt and decay.

It was in some house, some manor; the DA members stepped back hurriedly, to the wall, instinctively uncomfortable at the strange environment. The two looked at each other, the snake tooth now laying discarded on the floor.

A sudden flash, almost; a ripple in the air, and Malfoy, self-assured, stepped into view.

"And what are you doing here?" Neville stepped forward, still confrontational though he kept his wand pocketed; still shaken from the averted fall.

"I'm coming with you," Draco shrugged; so indifferent it was hard to comment, "We're the last of the DA. Believe it or not, I did actually support Harry, and I'm not going to stand by while the Dark Lord takes over."

"Why did you take us to a dungeon?" Luna interjected curiously, before Neville could yell. She kept her voice oddly muted; nervous. "It's the kind of place Graffles roost," her voice sunk to a hushed whisper

"If it is, they're not here," a bitter chuckle from Draco, as if he were speaking reluctantly. "We're here for the Horcruxes, I know you want to find them. No…Graffles would be permitted to survive more than a day. This is my father's manor-"

"So why've you brought us here?" Neville did raise his wand now, voice lowering instead of raising.

He'd heard rumours that this was the Death Eaters' base, of sorts, and if Alecto had a Port-key in order to report here, those rumours appeared to have substance. Despite the blonde's defences, Longbottom still saw him as Dumbledore's killer, and now he'd taken them to _here_…

"I told you," Malfoy rolled his eyes, still strangely cocky, self-assured, "Horcruxes. If anyone knows about where they are, she'd be here."

"Who?" Neville spoke up, guarded.

Draco met the Gryffindor's eyes, for the first time, hesitant. An odd emotion; pity? It took a strong effort for Malfoy to speak, and even then his voice was quiet, afraid of the word itself it seemed, wincing as Neville tensed.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."


	4. Deception

**There is no bigger guilt trip than seeing the last film, and counting the people you've killed/are planning to kill. I promise you, there are three people (at least) from the Harry Potter universe I will do my best to keep alive.  
>Before the chapter, I'd like to dedicate it to Maggie Smith because she was utterly fantastic in the film.<br>Now, enjoy! This will probably be longer than the other stories, **

Lord Voldemort sat quite still. He was far from any official outpost, yet his Death Eaters knew to find him here, should they wish it. The Riddle House: and apt place in which he could relax. And in a lower room, the creature rested: perpetually still, save for when it spoke in that grating voice.

In one hand, one pale, skeletal hand, he held a curious device, metal, a cap that flicked back, similar to a cigarette lighter. Something the Death Eaters had taken from three dead Hogwarts students.

_Click_.

Light rushed out of the device, to several tall, wax candles around the sides of the room. They had never been lit previously, there more for decoration than any practical purpose.

"Bella," a soft exhalation, almost a hiss; the tangled hair woman stepped out from the shadows, past the peeling paintwork until she was beside the dark, almost spectral robes of her master.

"My Lord," she bowed her head, once. "We have surpassed the limitations it has given. I made the journey, and so it is unneeded."

At that moment, a second Bellatrix Lestrange strode into view, the opposite side of the Dark Lord. She met her duplicate's eyes.

"Very well," Lord Voldemort exhaled. "Bella. You know the plan," he looked at the first to enter; "The Angel mentioned, bring it here. The…Slitheen ship discussed, make it crash. Let the shadows devour Hogwarts, the mental parasites pick off the survivors. And should they still live, grant me the powers of the Daemons. This creature's information shall be most useful."

"At once, my Lord," the first Bellatrix nodded her head once, fitting the metal mask. She lifted her wrist, an odd metal device upon it, flickering with the occasional spark of light.

"And Bella," Voldemort lifted one pale hand; "Do not kill Harry Potter. I would not wish to be deprived of the joy."

A nod; and the masked woman vanished in a flash of light.

Now, the Bellatrix who had not travelled through time came closer, beside Voldemort, face lit with a mixture of pride and savage joy at seeing an alternate version of herself move through time.

It had been a simple procedure; she'd gone back in time several seconds, that was the now-gone version. Following that, the witch had felt no need to do so, meaning two versions wandered for the short time.

"The creature refers to our creations as Hybrid Technology," Bellatrix exhaled, once, quiet. "Magic and its science combined."

"Time travel superior to that of a Time-Turner," the pale Dark Lord nodded once, appreciative. Remarkable. "And what of the…other matter."

"Hybrid spells," Bellatrix exhaled, almost blissful, relishing the idea. "They've created one," she hesitated, tremulous; "_Impermoen_. As you commanded."

Lord Voldemort looked up, meeting the witch's eyes. Something akin to a smile crossed his lips; sadistic, pleased. A rattling exhalation, a hiss.

Instead of replying, he clicked the Deluminator by his side; candlelight extinguished. And following that, he reached out, gripped a white, wax candle from the mantelpiece. A Port-key, they'd created several, the only way to travel to and from Hogwarts easily.

An instant later, the Dark Lord stood in Snape's Office, the headmaster's office. Silence; he made no attempt to speak to Snape, wherever he was, nor did he try to look around. He was here for one thing along.

Elder Wand in hand, he pointed the tip at the wall, with a sense of anticipation. "_Impermoen_," he whispered the newly created curse, wand momentarily luminescent, as a gentle stream of light, present for scarcely a second, moved from the tip, to the stone. For a moment, the Dark Lord frowned, as if puzzled; before giving what was almost a smile at the completed spell.

O

Bellatrix Lestrange sat at the long table, the only one in that room. She'd spoken to her Lord, and now he had departed, she had returned here.

There were others in the Manor, of course, though she'd given orders not to be disturbed. Time to think, to contemplate. All the things she'd be able to do when they caught the last of the Hogwarts resistance; if any survived.

Footsteps.

The Death Eater looked up; another had entered the room. For a moment, her hand moved to her wand, she'd commanded that she be left alone. But she stopped.

Draco Malfoy?

"You should be at Hogwarts," Bellatrix spoke, matter-of-factly. Not condemning, not curious, not angry.

"I know," the blonde's tone seemed almost bitter; he walked closer to the tangled hair woman. "But I've heard rumours, things I've found interesting, things you might too."

"What…things?" Bellatrix loathed the need to ask a question, but Draco had proven himself a useful servant of the Dark Lord. For now, she'd listen.

"A piece of dark magic," Malfoy paused, feeling a tentative thrill at speaking the words. It was risky, yes, but hopefully his façade of loyalty would keep him alive. "It's called a Horcrux."

A pause; Draco tensed. The witch just metres away stilled, seemingly thoughtful, though it was hard to tell. Her hand curled around her wand. Not from anger however, from a sense of curiosity.

"I…have not heard of it," reluctance at admitting her lack of knowledge.

Draco let out a silent sigh. She didn't know what they were; but was that because she hadn't been told, or because she didn't know? The blonde tensed again, before continuing.

"It's hardly something taught," Draco murmured, hesitant at the almost-insulting words, "But it's…powerful. Precious. Just rumours, but, I think _he_ has one."

"_He_?" Bellatrix spoke, breathless now. "What is a Horcrux?" she was no longer angry at needing to question, exulting at the new knowledge of the Dark Lord.

"A Horcrux," Draco began, unsure of how to explain, "It's an item, some sort of valuable item. After the right ritual, it's possible to put part of your soul into it. And then- then it's a step closer to immortality."

"An i-item," Bellatrix wasn't stuttering as such; she was breathless, excited.

Draco couldn't help but feel a thrill. It sounded like she'd seen something like it. "Precious," her voice, scarcely more than a whisper, suddenly cut off, turning harsh; "And why do you care?"

"I-" Draco winced; he should've thought this far ahead. "Have you seen one?"

"And why do you care?" she repeated, voice with mounting harshness; yet she was still breathless, the idea of a Horcrux alone making her ecstatic.

Inwardly, Draco sighed. It was easy to come up with an excuse, but it meant he'd have to play the old role again, a loyal Death Eater. It was something he hated doing; despite being the one they viewed as the killer of Dumbledore, his youth had counted against him in many situations, not to mention his less-than-ideal family.

He hadn't heard any details about the impossibly strong 'benefactor' the Dark Lord had referred to, he hadn't gained the new knowledge that had apparently been gifted to a few of the most loyal (namely, Bellatrix), not to mention the feeling he had that several looked down on him.

"It's _his_ soul," Draco whispered, playing the part with eerie ease. An almost reverence in his words. "Something I w- need to see."

"I think I've seen it," Bellatrix's voice was hushed. Awed. "The golden cup. He asked me to protect it."

Draco felt another thrill; a cup! That was one of them.

"He must trust you a lot, if you're guarding his soul," ego-boosting. The blonde winced as he felt himself growing complacent.

Ego; the weakness of most Death Eaters. By definition, if they were taking on the Dark Lord's ideals, they'd need to see themselves as superior. It didn't take much to feed those egos, and with the trust they would hopefully feel, however mild, it allowed Draco to be fairly convincing. He hoped.

"It is," the witch hissed. "Do you want to see it?" she'd tried to restate her control, by making the offer with the knowledge Draco had requested it. The blonde bit back a smile.

"It would be an honour," Malfoy nodded once, doing his best not to make his speech seem unnatural. It was hard to pick the words; he knew he'd never say them in any circumstance.

Bellatrix Lestrange nodded once, turning away from the boy; Draco couldn't help but peer at her wand. It looked different. The long, unyielding, dark wood was still present, but the hilt was decorated with an odd assortment of almost unnoticeable details. A vein ran through the wood; transparent, at first glance seeming to be only a textured crack. A small knot of wood grew from the mostly sleek surface; and something about it inherently seemed different. It seemed somehow harder, less wooden. Metallic even.

The woman seemed to catch his staring, gloved hand moving to the hilt of her wand as she pulled it out of the 'pocket', and out of his view.

"You wish to see the…Horcrux?" Bellatrix spoke, an odd warning note in her voice.

Draco hesitated for a split second; he couldn't back out now. And he needed to find the Horcrux, make the first step in the fight against Voldemort.

Neville and Luna were watching. Judging perhaps; from just outside the room, concealed, and hoping none of the others would pass by. They used a disillusionment charm.

"Yes," Draco nodded once.

A pause; the witch paused for a moment. Then:

"Liar!" she brought her wand up, diagonal, in a cutting motion; a jet of light, blue, shooting across the room, crackling. Draco took a hasty step back, cutting the curse in two with a responsive beam of light. "I. Saw. Your. Mind," a flash of light from her wand as each word fell. Draco cast shield after shield, hastily surviving the bursts of light.

_Legilimens_. She must've been casting it non-verbally, even without eye contact. A side effect of the changes to her wand? Whatever those changes were, they were powerful. Draco winced; he should try to practise Occlumency perpetually it seemed, rather than only when he knew for certain _Legilimens_ would be cast.

A flash of light later, Draco raised a shield, wincing at the intensity of the curses. This could have gone better; he'd almost convinced her. Almost. That one mistake played at his mind, always irritating.

"_Stupefy!_" a rumble, tumble of noise as Neville barged in through the doors, an odd glee in his eyes as the curse shot through the air, catching Bellatrix by surprise; she turned, but reacted a split second too late.

Luna wandered in absently behind Neville, waving her wand in unusual squiggles, murmuring a silencing charm to make sure the shouts and thuds didn't carry to the rest of the Manor. Draco blinked, looking from the Gryffindor, to the Ravenclaw.

"Thanks," the acknowledgement came oddly easily from the Slytherin's lips. "I think."

"Any enemy of hers," Neville gestured to the stunned Bellatrix, "Can't be all bad. I've been waiting years to do that," he wasn't joking.

Malfoy nodded for a moment, pacing along the stone floor, looking down at the witch. What now? She knew where a Horcrux was, they needed to use her to find it. Well, find the first; the cup.

A pause; the blonde hesitated, thoughts wandering to the darker magic he'd learnt. A smile, sly. He raised his wand, pointing it down; "_Imperio_."

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open, suddenly roused. Paler. Soon, she was sitting up, soon standing, quivering.

_Where's the Horcrux?_ Draco focused, wincing; she had greater will, greater resistance than any other subject he'd cast the Imperius Curse on. It was like trying to peer through fog, to get through it, and then somehow control that mist and banish it. Sometimes it was almost instinctively done, sometimes there was a little difficulty.

This time, he could feel her mind pulsing, actively fighting back. _No_. Unstable as ever; her voice, rising to a yell. Then.

"No!" she yelled, in reality, pulling a curled whip from her side, lashing out; releasing it and letting it curl around Draco's throat; giving a feral grin as it transfigured into a serpent, fangs bared, hissing, searching for the blonde's throat.

She whirled around, snatching Neville's wand from his hand, an instant before he could react; "Boy," she muttered, dismissive, turning his own wand back on him. A jabbing motion forwards; no curse, simply intimidating.

"_Stupefy!_" Luna cried, a jet of light shooting across the room. Lestrange turned, batted the hex away with a sideways smack, moving the stolen wand in a quick circle and, despite resistance, sending a spiralling hex back at the Ravenclaw.

Draco was still struggling with the charmed serpent, gripping the neck of the creature with one hand, keeping those venomous fangs away, the other hand trying to slip between the tightening tail and his throat. Scales strangling him, despite attempt to get his fingers in the gap.

Neville's eyes scanned the room, wincing as he saw a curse graze Luna's cheeks; he soon saw Bellatrix's wand on the floor, where it had fallen. Quickly, he scooped it, up, preparing to throw a spell-

A sudden spark; an electric shock. Gasping, surprised, he dropped the implement to an accompanying, triumphant cackle from Bellatrix. Malfoy afforded a glance sideways, tilting his neck as the snakehead lunged; "Here!" the blonde shouted, releasing the serpent's head for a moment to unsheathe his wand, and throw it across the room. He didn't check to see if Neville had caught it, returning his attention to the serpent, gripping the slippery scaled neck once more.

Lestrange seemed to almost enjoy the next few seconds; the sensation of duelling the two at once, Neville and Luna, countering every curse they flung and easily sending retorts of her own, often a great deal more harmful.

"I knew your parents!" a wild shriek; almost laughter, as a firework-like curse detonated over Luna's shoulder, "Longbottom, oh how they screamed, Lovegood, how pathetic, and Malfoy, the cowards. How similar you all are."

A yell from Neville; fury. Draco had enough time to shoot a concerned look sideways, hoping Neville wouldn't make a fool of himself; the blonde stumbled back across the room, away from the flying curses, still struggling with the snake, struggling with breath. He could do nothing, except hope the curse animating the whip/serpent would fail when Bellatrix was stopped. And hope that it'd happen soon.

A sudden sheet of what looked like flame; easily blown away by a momentary tempest. It was hard to see who cast what. A blistering curse sent chips of stone falling from the distant ceiling, a levitation charm lifted them once more, and another turned those stones into a sandstorm, and then a flock of furious birds, and then ash. A jet of water, a gush of steam.

Water and flame met in the centre; both Neville and Luna had synchronized, reading the other's move, moving their wands in careful patterns and sending small infernos towards Bellatrix, curses merging to a great, searing funnel of heat, barely countered by a blend of a shield and a waterfall from the Death Eater between them. A yell from Neville, angry; a quick spurt of light from inside the flame, headed straight for the wizard; he quickly avoided.

"_Stupefy!_" taking advantage of the distraction provided by the man, and the fire, Luna sent the stunning spell shooting into the centre of the duel, just striking Bellatrix. "_Stupefy!_" she yelled it again, wanting to be sure; a surprisingly comical action.

The heat soon dispersed; the snake lunged for Draco's neck, narrowly missing, before turning back to the leather of the whip, hastily wrenched away and torn by the blonde. Seconds later, Neville summoned his own wand back, throwing Draco's back to its owner; "Thanks."

"What should we try?" Neville spoke, looking from the stunned witch, to the Slytherin who'd killed Dumbledore as well as saved their lives. "I say we use the Cruciatus curse, give her a taste of her own medicine."

"Tempting," Draco muttered, bitterly. Then: "But it'd be pointless. We need to know where the Horcrux is."

"Don't go down to her level," Luna chimed in a rare moment of insight, before humming a small, upbeat tune. "We could always try again."

"And risk that again?" Draco laughed, "Don't think so."

"I meant you should try again," the quirky witch wasn't impatient at all, "See if you can convince her. Look," she lightly pointed her wand at Bellatrix, remembering, focusing on what she'd learnt, though none of that concentration showed on her face; "_Obliviate._"

Malfoy blinked; it would never have occurred to him. Maybe the Lovegood family was odd, yet it seemed to have its advantages, their strange thinking. Simply reset the clock, give it another go; and this time he'd attempt to try Occlumency.

"We'll be going," Luna said, sing-song, skipping out the room with Neville, quickly hiding. Seconds later, Draco stood in the room, alone, tentative, charming the witch back to her feet before whispering the charm to bring her back to consciousness, hoping the damages to the room would go unnoticed.

"You wish to see the…Horcrux?" Bellatrix spoke once more, still in the middle of the old conversation, the same warning note in her voice.

"Yes," Draco nodded, focusing on ersatz ideals of loyalty to the Dark Lord. The witch hesitated; Malfoy added, with a breathless note to his voice now, for good measure; "More than anything."

Bellatrix Lestrange nodded; Draco could hardly believe it. So easy; at least, so far. Easier than he'd expected, at the very least.

The Death Eater took a slow step forwards, momentarily hesitating as she failed to find her whip (finding her wand however, that had been put back). Then, with barely a moment more of thought, she lead the way to the Horcrux.

O

Hogwarts loomed in the distance, ahead of Amy and the Doctor. They couldn't help but wonder if it would be possible to get close to the castle, with all the supposed defences; then again, the Doctor had his sonic out, lifting the screwdriver high, a perpetual buzzing, as he swung the light in dramatic circles.

The redhead watched, bemused, as the Time Lord lead the way forwards. There was the occasional, momentary flash of light, swiftly neutralized by the sonic, as well as a few barriers that went unnoticed, dispelled instantly. It wasn't long until they'd trekked over the grassy ground, barely feeling the layers of magical defences. It was as they reached the securely locked main gates that the Doctor hesitated.

"Ah," he murmured, still waving the sonic screwdriver in the air. "It doesn't do wood, well, not properly," he frowned, running the sonic up the hinges, "Nope, definitely doesn't do this wood. Amy, could you try kicking it?"

"I don't think that'll work Doctor," Amy retorted, still bemused. The Time Lord pouted, tilting his head, looking along the immense stone walls.

A blink; barely ten metres away, there lay a regular pattern of protruding bricks from the coarse wall, easily enough to rest a foot on, albeit sideways. Some sort of ladder embedded in the wall.

"Come along Pond!" the Doctor grinned, hopping over to the odd set of bricks. Amy stared at him, disbelieving.

"Really?" she said, profoundly sceptical, "I'm pretty sure that was never there before."

"It's either a way up, or a trap," the Doctor said, easygoing, resting his foot on the first brick. "If it's a trap, we can spring it, and escape. Hopefully. How can it go wrong?" As soon as he'd finished speaking, the surprisingly agile man was several metres above the ground.

"I can think of a few things," Amy murmured, rolling her eyes, despite stepping closer, taking her first step onto a protruding brick.

Several minutes later, the time travellers had struggled up the wall of Hogwarts, finding the trip surprisingly easy; they rarely, if ever, missed the footholds, and their hands could always grip the wall. It did seem too convenient to be anything but a trap; since when had there been such a staircase along the outside wall?

They took several steps along the battlements of the castle, looking sideways, out over the ground; down a few steps, towards an entrance to the school, where they could explore properly.

"Doctor!" Amy's voice suddenly shouted out. The Time Lord whirled around.

Her foot had suddenly fallen into the step; a crack. One of the many trick steps that littered the school; it had grabbed her leg, past her ankle, and despite her tugs, refused to let go.

The Doctor mumbled incoherently, running up to her, around her, examining the trick step, Amy's position, and any number of other, possible inconsequential things. Hastily, he buzzed the sonic against the stone, around her ankle, to no avail.

"Can you pull?" the Doctor murmured, curious, tilting his head.

"Pull?" Amy tugged again on her leg, violently, "Of course I've tried pulling! It doesn't work."

"Oh, ah, well, um," the Doctor looked around for a moment, uncertain, before clapping his hands together; "Magic! That's what we need, always works." Without a word more, he quickly started running for the door, just along the path; one that would lead into the school itself.

"Doctor?" Amy called out; the Time Lord froze, quickly turning back to the redhead, resting one hand on each shoulder

"I'll be back before you know it, I promise, Pond," the Doctor spoke rapidly, yet perfectly intelligibly, "No one should come up here, you'll be safe, but just in case," he pressed the sonic screwdriver into her hand, moving her thumb until it rested on the switch; "That disables any magic. You shouldn't need it. Twenty three seconds, Pond."

With that, the Doctor was gone; leaving Amy standing, stuck there, foot jammed in the trick step and tightly holding the green glowing screwdriver.

The Doctor's words had been oddly tender, disconcertingly so. He rarely spoke like that, not unless he was genuinely worried. Then again, Amy reflected, he had enough reason to feel like that; Rory had died, and something was wrong with her, some inward taint making her lash out. He was trying to be comforting.

It wasn't working; and, it seemed, with good reason. Twenty two seconds later, the Doctor hurried back onto the roof, followed by a Third Year Ravenclaw, the first student he'd found. Most students should know how to get past the near-ubiquitous trick steps of Hogwarts.

Yet as they stepped onto the battlements, one fact was instantly visible. Amy was gone; she stood nowhere, and the crack, the step she'd been trapped in appeared completely sealed up. No sign it was ever there.


	5. The First Horcrux

**There may be several delays shortly. I've got a holiday soon, and I'll try to get the next chapter up in that time, but I'm not sure if I can. I may or may not have internet access while away, we'll see.  
>Also, between this and the last chapter, it's been my birthday, so I've been distracted by a fez, and over 25 Doctor Who classic series DVDs. This chapter is dedicated to Turlough as I love his character.<br>In any case, enjoy this one! **

Amy Pond awoke in the Dungeons of Hogwarts, looking up to murky stone. The sonic was still grasped in her hand; an odd sign, she couldn't have been transported there by human means, she'd have dropped it or had it taken otherwise.

What had happened? The last she remembered, was the cold air atop Hogwarts, the squeezing of the trick step over her foot. An instant of pain; and nothing, until this grimy prison. How had she ended up here?

The redhead tried to straighten herself, sitting up; rest her back against the wall. Breathe in, breathe out. A pause.

Her eyes scanned the stone walls. Damp. Dark. Looking around, there had to be some clue, somewhere; yet all there was, were those four walls, slightly curved, and the ceiling, a jagged few eroded bricks. The only light source came from a crack in the wall just in front of her. The floor appeared like little more than another wall, albeit at a different angle.

How had she ended up here?

A change ran through her, inexplicable, one moment she was lying down, the next she felt the need to shriek, to yell; she stood up, running for the wall, banging her fists on the bare stone. Shouts, screams, flesh hitting stone, hard. Half a minute of rage ticked past, before Amy stumbled back, eyes wide. _Why did I do that?_

She fell back to the floor, shuffling back against the wall, disturbed by the sudden, new lack of control. What was happening to her?

And how did she get here?

O

Seamus Finnegan cautiously moved down the seventh floor corridor. The Room of Requirement; despite the fact he'd left Harry behind when Draco had joined, he still held the DA's ideals.

He was still doing his best to resist, albeit in a small fashion. Alecto Carrow's wand had been replaced with a _geminio_ duplicate, preventing his commonplace torture of First Years and detainees. Or at least, delaying it. A few pyrotechnics (purchased from Fred and George) line the path of the gargoyle by the headmaster's office, making the next trip up or down it hopefully intensely unpleasant, and then he'd shot a stunning hex at Amycus, and missed.

So that was why he was here; running for the Room of Requirement. Hopefully it would sense his need for shelter.

A door appeared; this one carved out of the stone itself. Odd, though Seamus didn't mind. And wasn't it slightly displaced from where the door normally appeared? He frowned, but a glance back, to see the Carrow fast approaching, was enough to dispel any doubts of the stone door. Hastily, he slipped inside.

Something was instantly strange; instead of the marble room he was used to seeing, or any of the wild variety the Room held even for such a simple task as shelter, it was simply bare stone. Grey; featureless. He turned, confused; only to tense as he noticed the lack of any door. What was this?

And was the room getting smaller?

Amycus Carrow reached the wall, the now flat bricks; her fist contacted the stone, angry at the escaped student. McGonagall passed behind her, looking across; a severe expression on her face. Seamus Finnegan, another once-member of the DA. So many had vanished recently.

Both Minerva and Amycus watched the stone for that one second longer; Amycus giving off a cry of glee. A trickle of blood fell through the bricks.

O

Bellatrix was leading Draco and, unwittingly, Luna and Neville. She'd departed Malfoy Manor, leading the falsely adoring Draco, and unable to see the duo beneath a Disillusionment Charm as they followed from a cautious distance.

They reached the grounds beyond the Manor, and Bellatrix turned, extending her hand to the blonde. Malfoy blinked; he could guess what was coming, Luna and Neville wouldn't be able to follow.

"Where is it?" Draco murmured, attempting to add the right degree of reverence into his voice.

"The safest place," her words were scarcely more than a breath, "Gringotts Bank. Those pathetic goblins can be used for that purpose, defence."

Draco nodded his head once; hoping Neville and Luna had heard, hoping they'd find their own way to Diagon Alley, as he reached out his hand, gripped Bellatrix's-

A whirl of black smoke. The signature transport of the Death Eaters, a whirl of darkness around them as they spiralled onwards, embodied in the darkness. It was always disconcerting, the sensation of ebbing utterly enveloped in this magic. Shooting through the skies, guided by means he'd never mastered, until-

They landed in Diagon Alley, surprisingly close to the Bank, Bellatrix already walking forwards, close to unaffected by the warp. Draco stumbled for a moment, before straightening, regaining the haughty posture required for the role.

She lead the way ahead, easily, meeting no one's eyes. Striding into the grand halls of Gringotts, looking high above anyone, to the goblin at the far desk. It did not look up. A pause; the witch lifted her fist, bringing it down onto its workspace; a flicker of magic, and a dent appeared in the material, the exact shape of the Dark Mark. The goblin continued to focus on its work.

"Goblin," Bellatrix demanded attention, withdrawing her wand, pointing it at the creature; "I want to see my vault."

It was only then, that the goblin looked up. Perhaps there would have been a sneer on those wrinkled lips, had they not been possessed by fear at the sight of the witch. A pause.

"R-right away, Madam Lestrange," the goblin waved a fist in the air, eyes moving from the woman to the dent in the desk. It recognized the resolution in her gestures; this was one time it didn't want to take risks.

Soon the two Death Eaters were on a small Gringotts cart, lead by a moderately skittish goblin, to the Lestrange vault. They whirled over the tracks, Bellatrix standing surprisingly firmly by the edge, looking down over the immense chasm. Draco sat towards the side of the vehicle, tense. All the security in Gringotts, he couldn't help but feel slightly worried that one would pick up his motivation; though perhaps it was the reputation of Bellatrix, they encountered less of the falls and lights than Draco expected.

Upon arrival, the goblin lead the small journey. The Death Eater, haughty, 'accidentally' kicked the creature forwards as they passed a pitiful dragon. It shied away as the goblin waved some clanging creation in the air.

Tentative, Malfoy followed. He was somewhat unsure of what to do next; even if he made it into the vault, it wasn't going to be easy to find the Horcrux, before taking it away from Bellatrix, and destroying it. And come to think of it, how could you destroy a Horcrux? It couldn't be that easy. Would a killing curse be adequate?

He skimmed his memories, trying to remember the most powerful curses he'd been taught. Maybe one of them…

Seconds later, Draco, Bellatrix and the goblin were outside a fairly small, thick metal door. They paused there, the tiny little creature fiddling with a key, until the entrance swung open, revealing a cramped area, shining with gold, treasures beyond imagining belonging to the Lestrange family.

The witch lead the way in, looking around, side to side in mild awe at her own fortune; though she attempted to conceal the emotion. A few steps later, irritated, she waved her wand. A small shudder ran through each of the treasures, removing whatever security spells had been placed on them.

"Leave us," she curled her lip, looking down at the goblin.

It seemed in the mood to protest for a moment, before seeing the Death Eater's expression. Quickly, the goblin left the vault, leaving the blonde and the tangled hair woman surrounded by the tarnished gold. The vault door drew shut.

As soon as they were out of sight of those outside the vault, Bellatrix moved with an odd eagerness, kicking gold coins and treasures away as she reached for something on a distant shelf. A pause; before she stepped back, turning to Draco, triumphant, savage pride on her face. In her hand was clasped a golden cup.

"He asked me to protect it," Bellatrix spoke, hushed. Draco smiled; nodded, focusing on continuing Occlumency despite his raging emotions.

"That must be it," Malfoy nodded, hesitantly reaching out with one, pale hand, "May I-"

"By all means," oddly accommodating, made euphoric by idea, the presence of Voldemort's soul. She lowered the cup, into Draco's cold hands.

A tense second. The witch released it, allowing Draco to grip the Horcrux by the handle. It was surprisingly heavy, colder than he expected. Honestly intrigued now, the blonde ran one finger around the rim, feeling out for any weaker points.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his finger; Malfoy winced as a lone drop of blood fell from the rip of the cup. Had the Horcrux done that, to defend itself?

It seemed that way an instant later; the droplet of blood rose, levitating, expanding. A split second passed and it was the size of a Galleon, just above the cup, and features soon became visible. A face, bald, soulless eyes glaring out.

"_He seeks to destroy me, Bella_," it was unquestionably Lord Voldemort's voice, issuing from the Horcrux. Draco's eyes widened, reacting just in time, dropping the cup to raise his wand, deflecting the witch's immediate curse.

She'd listen to Voldemort above all others, unquestionably. It was why she was known as the most loyal Death Eater, and feared as such. With the knowledge of the Horcrux, and suspicion of Draco, perhaps the memory charm being imperfect, she was all too happy to start an attack on the blonde.

Well, it was true, Malfoy did want to destroy that Horcrux and, if possible, kill the Dark Lord himself. Apparent Occlumency was immaterial when intentions were read from touch and blood by the possessed artefact. The cup defended itself, that was something he should remember.

A flash of light; Bellatrix threw another curse forwards. Draco didn't bother with a shield charm, his retort being another pair of curses, striking and negating hers.

The blood-face of the cup had faded now, pooling on the floor. The blonde gratefully distanced himself from it, pressing his back against the vault door, nervous. They shouldn't hear from outside; and even if they did, they wouldn't interrupt. Still, that might not be a good thing; this was Bellatrix Lestrange, she'd killed and gleefully tortured multiple Aurors in the past.

Maybe the dark magic he'd learnt would give him an edge, or his experience with her. Maybe.

Draco was hardly filled with confidence; yet he had no choice.

A sudden jet of flame emanated from the door behind him. Gasping, He darted sideways, ignoring the grin on the witch's face.

She was enjoying this. Forget any moral qualms on duelling what she perceived to be a fellow Death Eater, she was just plain relishing the opportunity to fight, whoever her target was.

A green flash of light. Draco's eyes widened; he tried to deflect the killing curse with a barrage of spells and, upon failing, quickly took another step sideways. A narrow miss; his free hand reached out, gripping a coin and throwing it at Bellatrix, compounding the assault with a stunning hex. Both curse and treasure were incinerated by her blistering response: and at this, Draco did erect a shield charm, hasty.

This could have gone better. Malfoy had the distinct impression Bellatrix was toying with him and, though he didn't like the feeling, he didn't want her to change her mind. He was barely managing to deflect her curses as it was. Brute force, flinging of curse against curse; it had achieved only a tentative stalemate.

Draco's eyes darted around the room, searching for something he could use. The Horcrux lay discarded on the floor, and despite the occasional curse he aimed towards it, he did no harm. He'd need a more powerful spell, and they took longer to create.

It wasn't easy to keep two spells active simultaneously; or rather, have one spell dormant, and active in spells between defensive bursts of magic. Yet that was what Draco was forcing himself to do; he'd levitated a round, gold plate behind Bellatrix, hopefully without her notice. It was stationary most of the time, hanging in the air; yet, every few seconds, as Bellatrix inhaled to send another burst of hexes at him, that brief, second-long pause, he was able to focus on the plate, urge it slightly closer to the witch. Centimetres at a time, as the duel continued-

A sudden rush of heat was his only warning; a sudden burning wall of fire came from the air behind the blonde.

Draco span around on the spot, taking a step to the side, as well as making an attempt to extinguish the flame, letting the plate clatter noisily to the ground, now forgotten. Bellatrix's surprise had nullified his. Breathless now.

It was several seconds until he succeeded in regaining any semblance of balance; stumbling on the spot, unstably countering the witch's curses. A small time later, panting, he stood, straighter, wand still outstretched. He'd teach her a lesson for not taking him seriously. Somehow.

Quickly, the blonde reached out, and picked up a golden orb, weighed it in his hands; fairly heavy, like a cricket ball. He could throw it fairly far, if there was any reason to do so. He doubted it, Bellatrix could just incinerate it.

"_Depulso!_" Draco yelled during a momentary break, the banishing hex shattering a table, sending several treasures flying into the air, a quick distraction for the Death Eater.

Malfoy knew he'd pay for the brief distraction, but it was enough: the idea had come to him, strangely easily. Muttering a quick spell, he pointed his wand at the orb; an oddly complex incantation formed in his mind, an echo, like a shadow of one previously cast.

The Lestrange security. It was easier to turn shields on than break through them when they were off, and the security spells were already embedded in the treasures. His murmured spell had read the hex applied to the jewel: easy now Bellatrix had turned the defences off.

Shouts, screeches from the woman with tangled hair; Draco did his best to combat each of her vicious responses. He pulled through more or less, despite a burn to his shoulder. All the while, as he non-verbally deflected the witch's barrage, he was murmuring the security incantation. He gripped the orb tightly.

Soon, he finished the activation charm, moving his wand in a circle; the treasures shuddered, and in his hand, he felt the sphere momentarily burn. Another fell from his hand; a duplicate? Perfect.

Malfoy gave an oddly savage grin, lifting his arm to throw the orb at Bellatrix, Dark Mark bared for a moment. The gold flew across the room, struck away by a curse; and in that instant of distraction, there was another yell of the banishing hex, a rain of coins spraying across the witch before she could respond at all.

Draco stood still. Completely still, save for his hand, throwing three separate loads of the soon multiplying, burning Lestrange riches at Bellatrix. And then, when his cold eyes saw the witch was readying a response:

"_Petrificus totalus!_" maybe it wasn't as catchy as _stupefy_, but it had a similar purpose: and the differences were ones he wanted to exploit.

Bellatrix Lestrange collapsed to the ground, laying, motionless on the floor of her Gringotts Vault, and surrounded by temporarily burning treasures. They shuddered for a moment; before turning still at her lack of movement.

Silence. Stillness for several seconds longer.

Draco thought: he needed a powerful spell. Only dark spells came to his mind; those taught to him by Voldemort and the rest of the Death Eaters. They were more powerful than those taught by the cowards at Hogwarts: he couldn't help feeling scathing, for a moment. The school was all very well, but it didn't teach him anything useful for these circumstances.

Well, there was one thing.

The blonde raised his wand, higher, closing his eyes; this needed focus. He could feel Bellatrix, unblinking, petrified, stare at him. Wishing whatever pain she could. Draco couldn't suppress a smile; that's why he chose the full-body-bind as opposed to the stunning hex. _Stupefy_ knocked them out: while Bellatrix, now she was still conscious. Able to see, watch and feel.

Malfoy drew a circle in the air with his wand; and searing heat came out the tip, a whirl of fire, an unforgiving blaze, running along the tables and any flammable portions of the treasure, melting many of the metals. The blonde stepped back, away; glimpsing across the floor to see the Horcrux be incinerated, inky 'blood' falling and evaporating. A serpent head composed of the flame engulfed it.

_Fiendfyre_.

Malfoy gave a quick sneer, down at Bellatrix and his roaring inferno. Let her burn.

The blonde turned, moving out of the vault door, and sealing it shut before the waiting goblins could see what was within.

"Madame Lestrange wishes to wait alone," Draco spoke, haughty, stepping over the goblin, to head for the cart.

"Are you sure, sir?" the goblin said after a moment, accusing, yet hesitant, slowly following the blonde.

"Do you doubt my words?" Draco turned, making sure to 'accidentally' expose the Dark Mark branded on his arm. He loathed being a Death Eater, yet it did have occasional uses.

Without another complaint, the goblin activated the cart, leading them whirling out of the depths of Gringotts. Without a backwards glance, Draco soon strode out the front hall.

"What happened?" Neville's voice was recognizable, if unseen. Malfoy peered back. A clatter from a pile of paper; intentional, showing the blonde where the DA members were.

"Dealt with," Malfoy said shortly, feeling a slight thrill at saying the words. Would Neville forgive him, now Draco had avenged the boy's parents?

Whatever the case, Draco opted not to say.


	6. Corruption

**Sorry this update took so long, I've just come back from holiday. Anyway, a couple of bits aren't too well written, same reason, still getting used to it again.  
>Anyway, hopefully this should be worth the wait. An odd bit of head canon, an explanation made and a threat revealed, and McGonagall having a dramatic line. Should be good.<br>Hopefully the next update will be quicker, though I've still got a backlog of emails and classic series Doctor Who (Tom Baker's a cactus!) to watch, sorry. **

The Doctor ran around Hogwarts, skipping around, more than a little urgent, hasty. Where was Amy? The Time Lord ran down the spiral staircase, three, four steps at a time, until he barrelled out into the courtyard, resting on a patch of grass. It wouldn't be that easy to find her. He needed to think.

Map! Marauder's Map! That was…nowhere he knew of. And probably bewitched to make summoning an invalid option, now Harry was dead, the ones who must have killed him, Voldemort, wouldn't want such an item to be in easy access.

"Doctor?" The Time Lord span around, to see McGonagall, standing still, and more suspicious than curious as to the Doctor's presence.

The man turned, straightening his bow tie and dusting down his jacket, before hesitating, trying to think of something suitably impressive to say. He ended up with, rather anticlimactically:

"Yes?" a pause, as the teacher surveyed him.

"Just _what _are you doing here?" there was more than her normal imperious tone to Minerva's voice. There was a definite undercurrent of worry.

"Oh, you know," the Doctor shrugged, "The normal. Exploring, looking around, losing Amy."

She didn't seem at all surprised by the Doctor's admission that he'd lost Amy, though she seemed somehow saddened.

"I'd offer to help but enough students have gone missing," the teacher spoke softly. The Doctor looked up sharply. More? It wasn't in his nature to ignore a coincidence, and in his long experience, when there's a chain of people going missing, and when his companion also goes missing, there were definitely things going on, monsters to be beaten. The normal.

"Others are missing?" the Doctor spoke, initially hesitant, a sense of purpose in his voice. This could be a good thing; the more people who vanished, the easier it would be to find them.

"I thought you would have known," Minerva replied, "When there's trouble, you appear."

The Time Lord froze. Too many people saw him like that; but that wasn't what was running through his mind. Was there a connection? Draco had mentioned Harry vanishing for a moment, an abduction, could this be the same kind of thing? No, Harry returned.

One thing he had learned however, in cases like these, there was no such thing as coincidences.

"Tell me everything," the Doctor walked up to the teacher, suddenly nearly forceful. "Absolutely everything. Who's gone, how, where? I need to know everything."

The teacher hesitated for a moment, caught off guard; a rare event. She soon recovered.

There were lots of disappearances; it wasn't hard for the Doctor to place the names. All of them were in the DA, a definite majority. Seamus had seemingly gone to the Room of Requirement, yet hadn't been seen since, and blood trickled from the wall. Zacharias Smith was supposed to be heading for Potions, according to a friend he'd taken a wrong turn, gone into a side room in the dungeons for an unknown reason (speculated to be something to be a pain to the Death Eaters. Zacharias was never a fan of the DA, but he was less of a fan of Voldemort). They never found the room, let alone him, after. Dennis Creevey, Colin's brother, had fallen from a staircase, some freak accident, moving over the banisters and falling all the way to the distant floor: that was one of the few confirmed deaths.

It was, with an edge of what could well be pride in her voice, at the end that McGonagall slowed, before talking about Dean Thomas.

O

Several days past, Dean levitated himself; the easiest way to stay silent. He entered Amycus's office, trusting that the Death Eater wouldn't return for a while; Peeves had been all to happy to provide a distraction, sending the wizard running furiously through the corridors in order to regain his robe from a poltergeist who blew raspberries almost every second.

Amycus had been in such a rush (understandably) that his wand lay on his desk. Dean breathed a quick, quiet sigh of relief. So far, so good.

Working as fats as he could, the Gryffindor grabbed the wand, one end in each hand, and snapped it, wincing at the crack. Then, breathless, he pulled out the core of the wand with two fingers, stuffing it into the pocket of his robe, hasty, yanking harshly at the insides of the implement.

Upon emptying it, Dean turned his own wand, twirling it softly to cast the repairing charm. Now there was no core, now it had been stripped of any real magical element, it was essentially a stick; easy to repair. Yet it was also indistinguishable from a real wand, if not for the fact it could cast no spells. With the sadistic joys of Amycus, that was a blessing.

The student turned upon finishing his business, levitating himself, silent, to depart. He was a small way down the corridor when Amycus turned into sight, irate. Their eyes met for a brief second.

"And what are you doing here?" Carrow's voice was unquestionably accusing, distrusting, somehow projecting an aura of menace even as the Death Eater was righting his robes. It took Dean a moment to respond.

"Nothing," the student shrugged, mildly rude. Amycus raised his eyebrows; sceptical, yet didn't pursue, instead moving to walk into his office. Dean exhaled, relieved, starting to continue his walk away. Slowly now, trying to appear relaxed.

"_Imperio!_" the shout, the roar echoed down the corridor. It took Dean a split second to realize what it meant; Amycus had picked up his wand, distrusting, trying to get the truth out of Dean. The Gryffindor winced before, seeing no other course of action, running.

The Death Eater pursued, breathing audible, bestial, footsteps on the cold stone resounding. Dean Thomas managed to stay ahead, chuckling as Amycus yelled out stunning hexes, apparently unwilling to believe his wand was now useless. Then, a yell of frustration, and Dean felt the stick of wood strike him in the back of the neck.

The student stumbled for a moment, yet didn't slow; focusing on fleeing. He needed to escape, he really did. How though? They ran down another corridor, higher up in the castle, and a little more populated with First Year students leaving their classes. Dean hurried on, deciding on heading for the Common Room; it wouldn't be easy for Carrow to enter there, he didn't know the password.

An instant of pain; Dean fell to the floor, unsure of how; trying to get to his feet, yet gasping in pain. His ankle was broken; how? He'd felt it break, to be sure, but still couldn't understand. He was just running along the floor; then something had practically reached up, pulled down, crushed.

The student tried to wriggle ahead; turning to see Amycus violently snatch a wand from one of the First Years. The Death Eater looked down, lifting the stolen wand.

For one last attempt to spite the wizard, Dean threw the tattered core of the Death Eater's wand up; Carrow scowled. Then, as Dean had expected: "_Avada Kedavra!_"

O

"The stones!" The Doctor clapped his hands, bizarrely grinning, as McGonagall finished the story. "It's the stone!"

The Transfiguration teacher stared at the Time Lord, not at all impressed; yet she found herself looking around, the walls around the castle, walls of stone. The Doctor had been trustworthy previously, he could presumably be trusted now.

"Every stone in the castle," the Doctor's voice fell serious, meeting Minerva's eyes, "That's how they died, only when they touched the stone. And Amy; she stepped on a trick step that had never been there before. Someone's charmed the stones."

"Doctor, that's impossible," McGonagall replied, an odd, quavering note of laughter in her voice; possibly fearful. "No spell could constantly animate matter, it would have to take on a different shape."

"You did the chess pieces," the Doctor shrugged, "Not that different."

"Doctor," McGonagall spoke semi-sharply, "Do not speak about things when you have no knowledge. You are not a wizard, you do not understand the…principles of magic. A charm to give a basic set of repeating actions, or to change form and grant a personality based on that form, or, the most likely explanation, would be a constant spell giving a command or instruction: those are what magic is capable of. Unless someone is continually casting this spell you speak of, an incredibly complex spell if it covers the entire castle, the laws of magic forbid it from happening."

"And that's just the problem," the Doctor sighed; "It's not just magic. I should have seen this coming. It'd explain the disruptions: hybrids. Bio-technology controls the soil, or something like that, to do whatever someone wants. Transfiguration commands stone to do something, repeating. Combine the two, adaptability from the science and ability from the magic. Presto."

"That also is impossible," McGonagall replied stiffly, taking the Doctor's flawed, to her ears, knowledge as an almost personal affront. It was her teaching side stepping forwards.

"I know, I know," the Doctor shrugged, "Magic and science, they're not meant to work together. Tell me Minerva, have you ever wondered why? It's because it's too powerful. Two…playgrounds of time and space, that should never ever touch: it should technically be twice as powerful, two playgrounds and all: but there's more than just two dimensions involved. It's the square, the cube, the…" his voice trailed off, trying to think of a suitably massive power. He settled for: "Squillionth of what should happen. It's obviously not perfect yet, but if Hogwarts itself has been charmed with one of these impossible spells, the stones of the castle will resist us. Early days yet, but it will be at least as powerful as any existing spell, only impossible to counter without resorting to the same corruption."

There was a pause as Minerva stared at the Doctor. The Time Lord had delivered a passionate statement, almost frightening in its intensity. All the teacher could think of to say was:

"What?" her voice wasn't questioning, it was on the verge of disbelieving, almost amused, as if the Doctor was a child who'd concocted a grand fantasy.

"It's-" he hesitated, "I think I know who's behind this, an old, old, wise friend made it as clear as it could be: but they- they need a reason to be involved. And if they're getting this kind of…power, technology and magic, two opposing playgrounds mixed together, that's just the motivation they need. Even the Time Lords never dared…" the Doctor's voice trailed off, an odd expression on his face. "Well, they did. Once. Never again."

"When was this?" McGonagall spoke again, voice strangely hushed, affected by the gravitas of the Doctor's voice. She did not know who the time Lords were, but the way the Doctor spoke of them; with greater respect than even Dumbledore, with sadness, tinged with a little fear, anger.

"Divination," the Doctor murmured, almost in a croak. The Transfiguration teacher rolled her eyes.

"Then there is nothing to fear," the Transfiguration teacher replied, dismissive. "Divination is imprecise, erratic and-"

"Then don't you wonder why it's taught?" the Doctor cut in, voice burning. "Something that barely a fraction of people can fully learn, that's instinctive not learned, and reliant more on word games than knowledge? Why would you teach it?"  
>"Believe me Doctor, that is a question I have been asking for many years."<p>

"It's because of what it _used_ to be," the Doctor spoke, fervent, "It used to be perfect. Correct, one hundred percent of the time, if you asked and witch or wizard, and gave them the right thing, they could tell you anything about your future. That's all but faded now, but the trait's still present, the few real Seers. That's the legacy of this kind of hybridization. The early days of the Time Lords, one of the events that sparked the Law of Non-Intervention, they merged magic with their science of time travel, and permanently affected the human race."

"I…see," Minerva spoke stiffly, she was hesitant. A version of Divination that was successful, it was hard for her, in her experience, to picture it; yet the Doctor's face inspired belief. It also inspired fear. A little meddling who-knows how long ago, which still affected them even to this day? Divination was still practised, taught; albeit in vain.

"No one should have absolute knowledge of the future," the Doctor spoke, quietly. "That's the point of time. Some points are fixed; but some, they're so flexible, rewritable. Then however, people knew what was coming with certainty, they waged war without fear, before retreating into themselves, hiding. That's why I love you humans; you prize the present, if you know the future, you just get bored. There's no reason to do anything. Time Lords, sure, we could go to the future, but that's not the same as seeing it before it happened; it could still change…"

He seemed ready to say more, yet stopped, uncertain. Feeling slightly guilty at his ramblings.

"So, what you're saying," McGonagall spoke slowly, "Is that the castle has been enchanted to crush resistance."

"I-" the Doctor hesitated again, "I'm afraid so."

"Then there is nothing to worry about," the teacher turned, to walk back into the castle, nearing the stone floor of the corridor.

"Minerva!" the Doctor reached out; a shout, "Don't touch the stone! I don't know how powerful this…spell is, at this stage probably not much more than a regular spell, but the wise friend of mine, the Elder, he said all this was due to 'one man's mistake'. I can only think of one person who's made a mistake this big, in trusting the…" the doctor's voice trailed off for a moment. Then; "Riddle. It's Tom who's done this. I don't want the castle to k-"

"Hogwarts was built to be a sanctuary for its students," Minerva McGonagall interrupted, speaking smoothly, resolute. "I can assure you Doctor, so long as I am here, it will remain so."

With that, the Transfiguration teacher and once acting-Headmistress set her food down on the cold stone. It remained still; as yet with no trigger to attack, to action performed on the watching surface. But it waited, tensed as a predator might be, waiting for one slip. All the hundreds of footsteps all throughout the castle, all on the stone. Watching all of them: Hogwarts itself waited. Poised to attack.


	7. Lestrange

**So, still some more story advancement now. I'm not revealing everything by a long shot though...  
>I hope you're enjoying, sorry about the delays. caught up on emails, but still four Doctor Who DVDs to go... If anyone's complaining about a lack of Draco, Luna and Neville, they'll be in next chapter. They were going to be in this chapter, but it's already gone on a lot longer.<br>Also, one detail about the HP universe made up, though it does make sense. Enjoy!  
>I enjoyed writing Amy this chapter. Also, on the topic of the new series of Doctor Who having started, Rory is amazing. Thank you. <strong>

Amy launched herself at the stone wall again; whatever it was that had brought her here had refrained from killing her, perhaps because she wasn't a student, or perhaps because of the strange, bubbling anger she felt inside herself. Whatever the case, she was alive, and imprisoned in this stone cell, and furiously scratching at the walls, her inner rage boiling over.

Soon she collapsed back down, falling to the floor. And thought. It was that little undercurrent she'd been experiencing lately, that new layer to her mind. Sometimes, if she forgot to pay attention for a moment, or maybe even at random, anger broke through.

It was the stone around her. The room; she'd never seen anyone in her imprisonment. She was hungry, thirsty, and the oppressive blocks that formed her prison, they made her rage. At unforeseeable times, she felt the urge to scream, to shout, the need to inflict pain, make something else scream and share the rage burning away at her.

Then her thoughts froze. She'd figured it out; well, she thought so.

It had all started around the time she'd left the Doctor. To her family, her parents in the twisted world created by everything Voldemort had done here. But if she was right, it had happened earlier; slightly earlier, a burst of impulsiveness making her act on her choice to leave the TARDIS. She'd even struggled to be present at Dumbledore's funeral. At the time she thought it was just sadness, but it was more than that; thinking back, she was very nearly _repulsed_ by the proceedings. She hated to think it, but there it was.

Since Rory. Since Bellatrix.

Hogwarts, last year, Bellatrix had tried to kill her; and failed, Rory's sacrifice reflecting the curse. Like Lily's had, for Harry.

In the case of Harry however, more had happened. Voldemort was flung away, yet part of him, still struggling from the recent murder, part of his soul wrenched away as he cast the curse. Harry had become a primitive kind of Horcrux.

It was different for Amy though, it had to be; Bellatrix was truly dead, well that timeline's version of her was. Unlike Voldemort. But in every other aspect.

The curse was the same; the defence was the same. The girl who waited; the girl who lived. And now part of Bellatrix's soul, a last, feeble remnant of the formidable Death Eater, now lived inside Amy.

The redhead felt sick.

A sudden grating; the walls were retreating. Repressing her Lestrange side, Amy stood up, looking around, tense. It was only on one side, the bricks like those in Diagon Alley, curling aside until they formed prison-like bars. The other side, a man stood, clad in black leather and robes; one of the Snatchers no doubt. He stared dismissively, almost cruelly, into the stone cell; it was evident that he cared nothing for this duty. There was a moment of curiosity, unaware of what the castle was showing him, then simple boredom as he saw it was just another human.

"You don't belong to this school," he muttered. Stating the obvious; Amy couldn't suppress a flash of irritation. "Must be why you're still alive. Rest of the people like you just die." He said it with a mild annoyance, as if reporting bad weather.

In the cell, Amy paused. She looked across to the man, meeting his eyes with ease; and paused. She felt that little bubble in her mind rage. She hated it, a small spark of Rory's murderer in her head, continually influencing, even when she thought it was controlled.

_I will attempt to refrain from killing the boy, master._

The words just flashed into her mind, Bellatrix's voice speaking. The redhead gasped, breathless for the instant; the intensity of emotion suddenly broadcasted to every spot of her mind. Like a siren, a wailing; for a split second, she thought she could see something else, Voldemort, instead of this Snatcher and the stone bars.

An idea came to her, quickly, in the few seconds since the Snatcher had spoken. She stood up, meeting his eyes with disconcerting ease. A glint in her gaze; her Lestrange side. The Snatcher tensed against his better judgement, almost afraid of the look.

"I would highly advise you let me out," Amy spoke; but they weren't her words, well, not completely.

Harry had a connection to Voldemort, but that was only because both of them lived: Bellatrix had died, but Amy was a time traveller, her connection seemed to connect to whichever Bellatrix was in the same time as her regardless of whether or not the witch had formed the connection yet. It frightened her to know that the Death Eater was in the same time, but the fact would have its uses. She could use that connection, though it made her almost physically sick to think about it. She'd heard Bellatrix's thoughts, and with strange ease, she found herself able to see and feel more.

"Polyjuice potion," Amy spoke, walking over to the bars, resting one hand on the stone, eyes surveying her arm, "You know me," she hesitated imperceptibly, remembering his name, "Roan."

Though she didn't know it, the fact her body was Flesh helped. Her mind wasn't fully connected; so it was possible for it to lightly skim through Bellatrix's, more so than it would normally be when fixed in its own body.

The Snatcher, Roan, stiffened at her use of his name. He was about to speak, when Amy continued; wincing as the Bellatrix within her took almost full control.

"I'm Bellatrix Lestrange," her voice was cooler now, noticeably different, and her hand slipped through a gap in the bars, her fingers gripping the front of Roan's throat. Not gentle by any means, but not too harsh; yet.

The redhead hated the motions Bellatrix made her carry out, yet she couldn't bring herself to stop them; there was the odd, sickening, savage joy it brought her, the need to trick the Snatcher, but most of all, she wasn't certain she could take control of her body back from the Lestrange side of her. Not now, not when raging at imprisonment.

The Snatcher laughed, despite the pincer-like grip on his throat. He tried to take a step back; blinking as he realized Amy's grip was too tight, soon becoming serious once more.

He didn't notice the torment behind Amy's eyes. The relish the remnant of Bellatrix caused, against the redhead's own morals. The casual cruelty, the perceived superiority all emanating from the fragment of the witch. Amy regretted giving her control, yet she was struggling to suppress it now.

"I think the Dark Lord would have a few things to say about that," Roan was laughing, from a dark amusement at the thought, "_Bellatrix_," he said the word, sneering, sarcastic.

"Let's ask him," Amy's posture was entirely dictated by Bellatrix, as was her tone, her voice; even Roan was surprised. "Perhaps the Dark Lord will also have some things to say about you. About how so many Mudblood families went free and how you've become several Galleons richer with each one, about how you don't believe in purity, you believe in pathetic bribes. You know I found you, and you know I…punished you. I wonder if the Dark Lord would be interested in punishment also."

Roan was pale by the end of Amy/Bellatrix's quick, breathless monologue. There was no way anyone else could know, Roan had been quiet, subtle with it; letting Muggle-born families go free in return for an often extortionate sum of money. Bellatrix had caught him; the memories came from the real Bellatrix, across time and into the fragment in Amy's head. Harry read Voldemort's mind, and Amy was doing something similar to Bellatrix.

There were some differences of course; the connection was by no means the same. It was enough to fake an identity, and have that repulsive Lestrange fragment in practical control, as if Amy's body was Bellatrix's own.

"_Crucio!" Bellatrix's voice, filled with relish. Roan screaming, galleons falling from his hands and scattering along the floor as he writhed. The coins turned red hot-_

Amy winced, the momentary memory of Bellatrix's punishment overwhelming her. It was just another of those things which made her hate the Death Eater inside her mind.

"No one knows that," Roan spoke, firm, but pale, shaken.

"I do," Amy replied simply; this time with her own voice, a small reprieve. She hated having the Lestrange fragment in control, yet it seemed necessary all too often.

Harry had gained the echo of Voldemort when he was a baby, there was no way to compare how he would have been with how he was. With Amy however, she felt all the changes, her formed mind rebelling against the other mind; unlike Harry, she wasn't growing to encompass it, she was fighting it. In any case, Harry no doubt had less of Voldemort in his head, too much of Voldemort was elsewhere; his soul had fled, and much lay in the Horcruxes. Bellatrix's soul however, none of it could have been elsewhere. And while some of it may have truly died, some more had moved into Amy. The remnants of Bellatrix's soul were so pronounced that Amy found herself almost thinking of Bellatrix in first person, as if she truly was the witch, and always had been.

"And why do you look like that?" Roan spoke again, each of his hands on a stone bar, as if he were locked away. Amy's hand was still pinching the front of his throat, even though the redhead herself hated the gesture.

"I've told you," her voice was scarcely more than a breath, "Polyjuice."

"And why?" Roan spoke once more, the same tone, the same, gruff voice.

"The tasks granted to me by the Dark Lord are none of your concern." Amy found herself simpering, as if talking to a young child. Roan's eyes flashed; but at the memory of the 'punishment', of his acceptance of bribes, the Snatcher paused.

"Tell no one," Roan said, hoarse, stepping back. Amy, with a reluctance she found chilling, released his throat, and watched as he tapped his wand lightly on the bars.

So the servants of Voldemort seemed to know more about what had imprisoned her in that cell; Amy made a mental note to tell the Doctor, nodding as the stone opened into a clear circle. She stepped through, free now-

_The Bellatrix in her raged, and for an instant, she felt a need, a hunger. She could see herself, turning, forcing Roan against the wall with her forearm pressed against his throat, for real this time, her back arching, her teeth by his ear, whispering how much she despised traitors and liars as the air was drained from his body. She could feel Roan's body slump to the floor, and feel the sick joy Bellatrix felt at the man's death; accepting money and freeing Muggle-borns, it made him evil in the witch's eyes. And Amy could feel herself tensing, ready to turn and-_

The redhead walked away, sauntering gently, traces of Bellatrix's mannerisms in her walk. Roan watched her depart, unaware of the rage in her mind.

O

The Riddle House. Voldemort sat where he was, relaxed, mind running through so many possibilities. He'd felt a strange pain, an odd foreboding, but it was nothing major yet, he didn't recognize the feeling and at this moment, he couldn't care.

There was no way he would die. Harry was dead; and the prophecy stated that only Harry could kill him.

Hogwarts was cursed, the Dark Lord remembered how it felt, murmuring that spell softly, watching the light drift into the stone and seep through the once-sanctuary. _Impermoen_. Now any resistance would be crushed by the stones of the school they sought to protect. The irony was delicious.

An instant later, the pale face turned, hearing a creak, a step. He gave a grating hiss as a man casually walked into view.

"Hi Tom," the Doctor met Voldemort's eyes; intense, and warning. The wizard's pale, skeletal fingers lifted his wand, pointing it towards the Time Lord; the Doctor didn't move, instead speaking. "Now, I wouldn't do that. Think about it, I walked in here, materialized through all the security, and I'm walking into the same room as you. Why would I risk that just to be killed?"

There was a momentary pause; the Doctor inwardly wishing Amy didn't have the sonic screwdriver. He didn't have any protection from magic, well, aside from his words; but he'd learnt to be wary of trusting the reason of people like Voldemort. They tended to have little. Still, he was alive; that was a good start.

"I've got something to say, and I really think you need to listen," the Doctor's eyes never left Voldemort's, focused, powerful.

"Speak," the Dark Lord lifted his wand further, resting his arm comfortably on the edge of the chair and holding his wand in a loose grip, pointed directly at the Last of the Time Lords. He seemed almost indifferent to the Doctor's fate.

Another few seconds of quiet as the Doctor did his best to arrange his thoughts. The Ood had mentioned 'one man's mistake'; and that man had to be Voldemort, he'd been using technology that should be impossible, and seemed to have some kind of arrangement with the… the Doctor's thoughts trailed off, half-afraid at the possibility of an alliance between two. It seemed impossible, neither would be happy with the other.

"You've found…something, trusted it," the Doctor spoke, off-balance, stuttering somewhat, "Creatures, metal if I'm right. They're called Daleks, and they've given you something; magic and Muggle science, combined when it shouldn't be. Am I right?"

"Most impressively so," the tip of the Dark Lord's wand moved in an easy circle, "I shall have to have my Death Eaters interrogated; though your knowledge is lacking. There is but one…Dalek granting me hybrid technology."

"Hybrid technology hm? So that's what you're calling it, makes sense," the Doctor blinked for a moment, mentally chastising himself for rambling in the face of the deadliest wizard in the world;, before blinking again and mentally congratulating himself for doing so. "It's wrong, you have to realize that. Any area saturated with magic, and science fails there: and any area that's truly saturated with science, and you'd struggle to perform any magic. The two aren't meant to be combined-"

"Yet they can be," Voldemort's voice was little more than a grating exhalation. "Power. It is all that matters; and if that's all you have to say…"

Voldemort did not have to finish the sentence, moving his wand in a circle, before starting to jab forwards, the beginning of a spell on his lips. The Elder Wand's tip started to spark green in anticipation, a small electrical light anticipating the spell; a piece of hybrid technology.

"No! Wait!" the Doctor yelped, hoping to ask at least one more question before dying; "The Dalek, the pepper-pot thing, what colour was it?"

"Colour?" Voldemort seemed almost amused. "Orange, if it means that much to you," he again moved his wand, ready to cast the killing curse.

"Orange!" the Doctor shouted; the Dark Lord paused once more, now annoyed though, in spite of himself, willing to hear what the Doctor had to say. "That's the scientist; no wonder. They've got ranks, the Daleks; colour-coded now. The orange one, that's the scientist, its task is to find new technologies and weapons for them. That's why it's helping you, it's just trying to use you. Believe me, given the chance, the Daleks would destroy you and Muggles alike."

Voldemort paused once more; irritated by the Doctor, yet understanding his words. The Dark Lord did not like the Dalek, indeed, he liked nothing, but the only reason he continued any arrangement with the metal creature was for the power it gave away. In a way, he suspected that they were being used, but he tolerated it for that same reason. A pity.

The Doctor's hands were frantically patting through his pockets. Voldemort observed it for a moment more, amused, before deciding to cease the Doctor's annoying babbling.

"_Avada Kedavra_," the wizard recited the incantation as little more than a cold statement, an almost blinding, intensified flash of green illuminating the room for several long seconds, appearing almost the instant the Doctor pulled something from his pocket.

As the light faded, Voldemort snarled, seeing the Doctor still standing, holding out what looked like a phone, though it was slightly in advance of the technology of the time.

"I wondered where that'd gone," the Doctor murmured to himself, interested, tilting his head as he faced the mobile. "Sonicked up phone, no biological component," he snapped the phone shut, before grinning triumphantly at the Dark Lord; "Concentrated science, Time Lord and human, a hybrid in itself. Cancels out magic; you see Tom, it shouldn't happen, magic and science. Not together."

The Time Lord was more than happy to continue his impassioned plea; yet a glance into Voldemort's eyes assure him that it might not be the best course of action. A split second later, and he was running from the room, phone in hand.

The Dark Lord did not chase, instead pausing, thoughtful. He gripped his wand slightly tighter, drawing it closer to his robed frame. Still.

Nagini slithered from a hole in the wall, through the legs of the chair and circling Voldemort's feet. The serpent listened to a few hissed words in Parseltongue, before moving quickly, silently out the door; eagerly searching for the Doctor and ignoring the strange blue box it passed.

The Dark Lord waited for several seconds more, contemplating. There was one more reason to distrust the Dalek: while he bore no sympathy for the Doctor, he was happy to use the Time Lord's advice as corroboration for his existing suspicions. A pity. In that case, they would require more aid for the coming assault on Hogwarts: even though the stones were crushing resistance, there still were people and creatures encouraging others to fight the Death Eaters. While Voldemort knew, by the Prophecy, none were a threat to him, it still inspired anger to know that some had the temerity to resist.

A quiet, almost gaseous wisp of light from his wand. White, then blue, slowly spreading until it formed an oval roughly the size of a door, two dimensional, in front of him. The Dark Lord didn't take his eyes from the light, watching as it seemed to clear, like mist; yet still noticeably there, a different scene present at the place where the blue once was.

Hogwarts. He could see Hogwarts; though it was the Hogwarts of several years ago. Bellatrix walked through the corridors. Voldemort watched, a smile curling his lips; almost of fondness had he not left such feelings behind long ago. Bellatrix had her wand pointed towards a man; not one Voldemort recognized, and as such one he would normally have no hesitation in killing. He heard the start of the killing curse, and for a moment considered allowing her to do so; before remembering something the creature had said. Time travel, temporal manipulation, there were only a set few points which could be affected, and a certain degree to which it would work.

A pity. While they'd succeeded in great changes, including his murder of Harry Potter in the forest, some were still, temporarily, beyond them. They needed to be careful.

"No killing," the Dark Lord spoke; commanding, yet reluctant. "Yet." He paused for a moment, thinking; before reaching forwards with his wand, and pulling Bellatrix back to him, back to his present.

The witch stood before the pale wizard; she turned around, tangled hair loose, spinning. She couldn't be furious with her master; yet regretted the lost chance.

"Now Bella," Voldemort spoke softly, "There is to be no…unwanted death in the past."

"My Lord," Bellatrix nodded once, wand still clenched in her hand. It was a force of will for her, a challenge to not kill.

"Of course," Voldemort gave a cold smile, "If you miss the chance to kill, you are welcome to stay with us. We are to take over Hogwarts soon, and it would be a most efficient use of your talents."

The tangled hair woman's eyes lit up behind her metal mask. While she enjoyed the harm she could do in the past, and the coming summoning of Vetis, it didn't compare to the freedom she was granted in this present.

"Of course, my Lord," her voice was scarcely more than a breath, yet it was full of exultation. She knew it almost instinctively; especially with the changes she'd made, Hogwarts would fall.


	8. Resistance

**Hello again! I'm still being dramatic, it's fun. Also, McGonagall is amazing. Anyway, I'm progressing the story a bit now as this is probably going to be in two parts (not two stories), like the last book's movies. I have a very specific and evil cliffhanger planned.  
>Let me know if you're enjoying! <strong>

They were camping in the forest; Draco, Neville and Luna. The quiet night, with the knowledge of one destroyed Horcrux, and with the knowledge of the four to go. Locket, Diadem, snake, and the unknown other.

They'd put up a stolen tent (well, technically stolen, though Neville had left behind a few Galleons) in the middle of several protective charms. Neville and Luna were inside, Draco was on guard outside; though really, he trusted the charms to guard them, he just wasn't a fan of having to be in such close quarters with others.

A sigh; Malfoy lifted his arm, letting the black robe fall a small way back, baring his pale fore-arm. The burnt Dark Mark glared back at him. The serpent, the eyes of the skull. He couldn't wait for the day when it would stop tormenting him.

Four Horcruxes to be destroyed. Wherever they were. He knew roughly what held each fragment of his soul, as he'd heard on the Lightning-Struck tower, but not which locket, or which diadem, which snake, and whatever the other was.

"Draco!" it was Luna's voice, calling; it sounded almost disinterested, yet Draco knew the blonde well enough now to hear the urgency in her tone.

Frowning, slowly, the blonde turned to enter the tent. Luna and Neville sat opposite one another, each in a chair either side of a wooden table. Between them, open on the table, was _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Luna's idea," Neville spoke, semi-grudgingly, though with less anger than he normally directed at Draco. "And a pretty brilliant one; V- You-Know-Who, he wouldn't plant his soul in just anything, would he? It's got to be important things: and what's more important than the Four Founders?"

Malfoy's eyes widened; he nodded slightly, beginning to understand. This would definitely be useful, if he was right about what they'd found.

"This book was in the library," Luna gestured towards the back of the tent. Apparently they'd unwittingly stolen quite a luxurious abode. "You said there were seven Horcruxes. A ring," she pointed to an inked ring on an illustration of Salazar Slytherin; one that made Draco withhold a gasp. Dumbledore had been wearing it last year. "A locket," Luna continued, pointing again to Slytherin, "A cup," she pointed to a picture of Helga Hufflepuff on the next page; she held a cup identical to the one Draco had destroyed in Gringotts, "And a diadem," she turned the page to point at Rowena Ravenclaw.

"That just leaves the snake," Draco murmured eventually, still taking in the information. "And the one other."

At that, Luna and Neville shared a look, turned the book around to show the illustration of Godric Gryffindor.

"There's one artefact of Gryffindor left," Neville began, pausing; "But we hope that's not it."

Malfoy scanned the illustration; eyes settling on the Sword. A small annotation was just to the side; _The Sword of Goblin Gryffindor, forged by the goblin Ragnuk the First_. Draco stopped.

Goblin-made. Indestructible; if the Sword was a Horcrux, and even if they could get to it, they had no way to destroy it. Suddenly, a memory came to Draco, and he froze.

_On the cold ground; Malfoy stepped slowly forwards, following the Dark Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange, and a small group of other Death Eaters._

_Voldemort strode ahead of them, wand pointed forwards. Draco several metres behind; they glided through the trees with eerie grace, silent. Like mist. Flashes of light in the murky night ahead, lasting scarcely more than two seconds. A streak of light; joining Voldemort's wand with something unseen. It crackled, writhed for a moment; then one more flash, a pulse of pale, pale blue. A boy's scream. _

_Harry. Draco's step faltered for a moment. _

"_The Boy Who Lived, lives no more," a high-pitched, cruel voice. A tent came into sight as it burnt to the ground; and visible on the forest floor were three bodies. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger. Unmoving. _

_Hermione's wand had fallen from her hand; it was still slowly rolling away. Crack; snapped beneath Bellatrix's boot. Ron stared up at the moonless sky. And Harry was on his side, glasses cracked and falling away; in one hand he gripped a shattered wand, and in the other, a long, gleaming silver blade. _

_Voldemort's breathing seemed somewhat laboured; yet he did not struggle at all to reach down and grip the hilt of the Sword, before abruptly leaving in a cloud of black smoke._

"He's got the Sword," Draco said quickly; momentarily hesitant. "I saw him. Looks like you won't get your wish."

The blonde turned, but instead of leaving the tent, found himself sitting on a stool; still some distance from the duo. Luna seemed somehow disappointed, yet her expression was as vacant and as dreamy as ever.

"Oh well," she murmured lightly, shutting the book, "Looks like we'll be going back to Hogwarts."

"We're not giving up," Draco snapped quickly, ignoring Neville's surprised, yet thoughtful look.

"She's not giving up," Neville retorted, sharply looking towards the blonde; "Think about it for once Malfoy. The Founders; where would you expect to find their artefacts? Gringotts is one of the most secure places; but where's the safest? Hogwarts. No question. We're going back."

Malfoy paused, surprised by the strength of Neville's statement. The Gryffindor had always seemed a bit, well, weak; evidently he'd found some strength in recent months and years.

The blonde was about to respond before gasping; a sudden pain ran up his arm, a burning, a familiar, urgent prickling. Breathless, he pulled down his sleeve; revealing the Dark Mark as it writhed, burned.

"What-" Neville began.

"Looks like I've been summoned," Draco muttered; bitter. He paused for a moment, unwilling focusing on the emblem; "Hogwarts," the blonde continued quickly. "He's at Hogwarts."

Malfoy stood up quickly, turning to leave the tent; Neville quickly followed, grabbing the blonde's wrist:

"Is that it then? You're just going to up and run when he calls you?"

"I don't have a choice," Draco muttered, quickly, almost unwilling to say the words. Pained. He tried to yank his arm from Neville's grip; failing. A roll of his eyes, an irritated grunt; "Look, Longbottom. I can't wait a second more, I'm meant to apparate the instant I feel it burn, so if you don't let go, I'm going to have to take you straight into the arms of the Dark Lord."

Neville recoiled as if burned, blinking; he was about to speak, to assure Draco that they'd talk later, when they could, that he still didn't trust the Slytherin. Instead, Malfoy cut in, speaking quickly as he started to stride out of the protection charms around the tent.

"Try to get to Hogwarts," a bitter smile, "If you'll listen to me. I'll try to get back to you. See you at Hogsmeade."

The Gryffindor was about to speak, when the Slytherin abruptly vanished, a cloud of black smoke spiralling up from where he'd been standing, whirling through the sky.

O

McGonagall sat, still, silent in her classroom. She held her wand loosely in her hand, positioned herself comfortably, and faced down the length of the room, through the open door to the stone walls beyond. Her expression appeared absent, yet she was taking in all she saw; every chip, every brick in the ancient walls. They curved, towered, surrounded, rose.

It was night. The students were asleep, and she should be; yet her mind was haunted. The sanctuary, Hogwarts itself, had been cursed to take the lives who stood up for it. It made her hands quiver with anger. The students slept in the knowledge that they should be safe, while surrounded with stone that could steal their lives.

Minerva stood up swiftly, striding from the room, not even an instant's hesitation in her step. She made her way through the corridors at night, footsteps lightly clinking; though it may have been her imagination, it almost sounded as if the stones were rustling.

Slowly, firmly, the Transfiguration teacher came to a halt while standing in a grand, tall, open chamber. She was momentarily awed by the size and scale; so many students passed through here, as did she, and they barely looked around. Intricate, impressive statues, row upon row, filled the space from the floor to the distant ceiling. Quickly, her eyes moved around the hall, from stone knight to stone knight: stone not quite attached to the rest of the castle. Perhaps they had not been affected by whatever curse afflicted Hogwarts?

McGonagall found herself hoping so. It was a fact she relied upon.

"_Piertotum, Locomotor!_" she felt a slight thrill as she cried out the spell; wand thrust into the air, feeling it tremble as a deep rumble filled the room.

Thud. Thud. The stone knights leapt from their alcoves, one by one, facing the ground; then slowly facing up. They looked to the witch; and the stone floor beneath them seemed to slowly be writhing, unable to determine whether Minerva's actions constituted resistance.

"Protect the castle! Fulfil your purpose," Minerva shouted, voice carrying to each of the falling statues, "The stones have been cursed. Protect the students!"

Stone against stone. Thudding footsteps as the statues marched from the room, taking posts; guarding the whole of the castle as best they could from whatever spell cursed it. Stone against the stone.

There was no way that there could be a witch of wizard guarding every student, especially not one powerful enough to resist solid stone. That was why she'd chosen the statue; so many, and able to stand guard, and as they were made from stone also they'd be more likely to have equal strength to the cursed castle. After all, they'd been constructed to defend Hogwarts; weaker rock would not have been chosen.

The deaths she'd heard of; some people were crushed, some simply stolen away, some distracted, tripped, to let the rest of the Death Eaters follow. In theory, the statues would be able to save them: hold back the walls, or form a barrier themselves.

Still, it was far from perfect. The stones were still cursed. Was there any way to stop that?

Quickly, her mind skimmed through every spell she knew. None appeared inherently useful; save for a few general ones, but as the Doctor said, this was some kind of 'hybrid' spell, different to the normal. At the very least though, she needed to try.

Firm, trembling more from righteous rage than fear, she raised her wand once more, yet held it so that the hilt faced the distant ceiling, and the point was trained on the stones of the floor. Even if the stones pulled her down, the spell would continue for as long as she could hold it. She cleared her throat.

"_Finite Incantatem_," she pronounced the spell clearly, watching the white, tinged indigo, light emanate from the tip of her wand, spreading as it descended, small sparks covering much of the floor.

For a moment the light seemed to dim; Minerva murmured, quieter this time, the enchantment once more. This time, the light did not dim, a constant stream descending, seeping into the grey stones. And the stones felt it.

It could be heard in almost the instant that the sparks touched the floor. A grating, a rumble as stone rubbed against stone, moving, deciding what to do, slowly drawing apart beneath McGonagall. The witch focused, feeling the ground sink away beneath her.

_Finite Incantatem_. She didn't care that her life was at risk; if the spell didn't work, if it didn't save her, then the students would most likely also suffer. At the very least, her disappearance would be harder to pass off as an accident.

An upside down L shape of rock rose from the stone; McGonagall's first knowledge of it was as the tip struck her back, knocking her to the floor. Her wand continued to shine, shuddering in her hand, as the stone rose, crawling over her live some voracious weed, hungry, devouring. She was laying on the floor, body almost completely covered in the crushing rock.

In her mind, she could feel her spell, the thrumming indigo against the corrupted, preternatural curse that pervaded the stones of Hogwarts. She focused, finding it easier now the stones covered her; not only was she closer to the rock, but she had less to do, less to occupy her mind and distract her. She wasn't even standing.

Only her hand reached up out of the floor; almost completely buried, the stones almost becoming flat once more, almost, a slight bump, a slight distortion; and a wand tightly clasped, shining with a perpetual light, small, indigo sparks falling and dissipating on the stone.

"_Finite Incantatem_," the spell could just be heard, murmured once more from beneath the floor. And she was focusing now, more than ever, surrounded by the stone and so able to have much more of an effect than before.

The stone stilled.

There was silence. A rough patch in the middle of the corridor, though the rest appeared normal; and one hand reaching up. Wand still shining; witch still alive.

She felt an odd kind of tranquillity, one that no doubt helped with the spell. There was darkness, but no need to worry. The only real sensation was a dull ache where the coarse rock pressed into her; buried alive, yet she had no reason to fear it. There was no feeling of helplessness: she was doing what she could, and felt the curse in the stone with almost the same intensity that she felt her wand trembling in her grip.

Dark magic left traces; and this spell, whatever afflicted Hogwarts, while it may not have been Dark (so, so far beyond such labels), it was certainly powerful enough to resonate provided one knew to look for it. With such proximity, Minerva had found the way to speak the words, the way to focus, the ideal and near-perfect opposition. So long as she concentrated, and so long as the same light emanated from her wand, this rough area, the curse afflicting it, would be at bay.

_Finite Incantatem_. The words and the magic around her formed her only impression of the real world.

Time had no meaning; yet she knew that much of it passed. Only her hand in the cool air gave any sign that she was present, yet the students were asleep. None would be coming this way.

Thud.

A rumble ran through the floor; noise. Minerva was distracted for an instant, enough for the stones to press against her with that much more force, a little more: but she was quickly able to regain that tranquillity, that focus. _Finite Incantatem_. The noise, the footsteps, thud, thud, thud: she ignored them even as they grew louder. Heavy footfalls, approaching her hand.

A sudden roaring, a ripping, the same grinding of stone on stone only much, much louder, and much more sudden. A rip. Minerva was naturally distracted, yet instead of impending danger, she felt relief. Her eyes turned up; one of the stone knights, in its thick hands was a clump of the floor, jagged, grey stone that had been pressed down on the witch.

Another thud, and another rip, removing in huge chunks the rock that kept McGonagall pressed down. Quickly getting to her feet, struggling slightly with the small efforts of the base of the hole, she walked up the jagged edges to her burial point. A momentary glance down; then she stepped on the statue's offered arm, and waited as it raised her: out of the stone's influence. It couldn't see anyone not touching it; and she was on the stone of the knight, not the cursed floor.

She couldn't help wishing that the knight had come sooner; yet, she reflected, it was her fault. She'd commanded it to protect the students, and not the teachers. Perhaps this statue had misinterpreted her, or maybe it was using a remnant of old instructions to protect teachers, maybe it was acting of its own accord: so many possibilities, she didn't know which yet she was glad it had.

Minerva McGonagall looked down to the floor; already the ripped chunks were falling apart into smaller bricks, rolling to refill the torn-open pit. It made her slightly afraid, though she didn't show it, to see how deep she had been buried; her wand-arm ached.

"_Finite Incantatem_," she said once more, breathless, focusing so, so completely. Now out of the influence of the stone, yet still able to remember the feeling and thus the remedy, she cast the spell. Violet light, more intense now, rippled along the floor, from stone, to stone, to stone.

The curse was broken; for that small area at least. A few metres in size, not even stretching from one side of the corridor to the other; the area affected by McGonagall's spell. Not much, but it was a start. A sign that Hogwarts would, however slightly, be a safe place for its students. Resistance against the cursed stones of Hogwarts had begun.

Yet with that, thoroughly exhausted, Minerva found herself breathless. She fell, next to no energy left, caught by the stone knight. She was left to sleep on the cured floor.


	9. Echoes

**Hello again! Sorry this update took so long, I've been busy. Another character returns this chapter!**

Amy walked slowly around Hogwarts, nervous; half-afraid that she'd be somehow transported to a similar cell once more, and also afraid that the Bellatrix inside her would take control. She found her way outside the castle, mostly ignored by the Death Eaters. It was night; most were asleep. It took a glare and another, sickening, bout of Bellatrix inspired knowledge to get past the one guard she did encounter.

She felt it was almost worth it. Inside the castle things were, well, stuffy. She couldn't breathe in captivity; and the corridors, the grandest halls, they all gave her that feeling. She needed some sense of freedom, something to appease Lestrange; and beyond the grand walls, she found it.

A pause, deep breaths, relaxation for several seconds on the grassy banks. She stared out. What should she do now? The Doctor was around Hogwarts, somewhere: but how could she find him? Well, look for the explosions and monsters; but there were none of those that she could see.

A flash of green light. Amy frowned, eyes wandering along the ground in the distance; to see a robed figure, obviously a Death Eater, making its way to the Forbidden Forest. A few steps from it lay a just-killed creature; Amy made her way slowly towards it, trying to follow the figure. It was something to do; and something the Doctor would no doubt find useful, if he wasn't already in the middle of it.

As she passed the creature, she noticed it was a centaur; no doubt something from inside the Forest that the Death Eater had been unwilling to let pass. What was it doing outside the Forest though? Evidently there was something going on within those trees.

The Death Eater entered the Forest, and Amy lagged several steps behind, a long way, just remaining unnoticed. She hurried onwards a small way as the figure entered the Forest, relying on the trees to block her from his view; she hid behind a trunk, peering out to see the wizard, now visibly a man, and took a few steps closer. Carefully, avoiding any branches or twigs on the floor, she made her way after the man.

Grey.

A sudden, cold, shivering sensation ran over the redhead, and something grey passed her; she turned around, on guard, eyes widening as she saw Rory. He was still a ghost, yet no older than the last time she'd seen him; grey, translucent, ethereal, his modern, casual clothes seeming out of place on the misty form.

"Don't follow," her husband (or would it be ex, 'til death do us part' and all?) spoke quietly, urgently; she had to strain her ears to hear. "The Death Eaters have been gathering in the Forest for the last few weeks at least, I've been watching them. You couldn't remain hidden."

"Hang on, hang on," Amy murmured, straightening up so that she wasn't stood at an awkward angle, supported by one arm on the tree. She turned around, facing out of the Forest, still concealed behind the tree, to where Rory floated. "How did you remain hidden? And what are you doing following them anyway?"

"I had to do something," a, quiet literally, ghost of a smile crossed his lips; "Death can get very boring. They want to take over Hogwarts completely, even with the resistance inside; and as for how I stayed hidden, that's very easy," the ghost reached out a hand, brushing it through the bark of the tree. It vanished up to the wrist as it passed through the wood.

"You hid inside a tree," Amy stated, dry. "_Inside_ a tree."

"Yeah," Mr Pond chuckled, "It's still easy to hear what they say," he hesitated, sobering up. "I've missed you, Amy."

"Me too," Amy murmured, voice soon becoming quiet, saddened.

She could still remember last year; Bellatrix's cackle, the flash of green, then her scream-

She hadn't even been able to say goodbye: but now, 'goodbye' seemed like the wrong thing to say. She'd found him again, in a way, even if he wasn't solid it was some comfort to have a Rory with her.

"How did you-" Amy hesitated, unsure of how to express herself; "Waiting for," another pause; she didn't know the number. She settled for: "Years."

"Don't worry about it," a hollow laugh; "It wasn't so bad. I've been dead before, should be getting used to it."

A pause. They wanted to talk to each other, to say something, if there was something, that could make up for the years lost. The redhead stared into her husband's translucent, foggy eyes.

"Come back to the castle," Rory spoke eventually, muted, voice with scarcely more substance than his incorporeal form. "Calmer. We can talk there."

Slow, Amy nodded, taking a few unsteady steps along the ground. It was a surprise, seeing Rory here, especially when she'd gotten so used to never seeing him again. That was the problem with the Wizarding World: everything was too different to what she knew.

Whatever the case, the redhead began the long walk back to the castle, and the ghost of Rory drifted along by her side, moving most of the way before turning, eternally lonely and unable to bear the way Amy looked at him, as if he was nothing but a reminder of her husband's death. Reluctant, silent, the ghost returned to the Forest.

O

Deep inside the Forbidden Forest, Death Eaters gathered; Draco Malfoy among them, one masked figure among many, all around a pale, imposing wizard. Lord Voldemort stood firmly in the middle of the horde, Elder Wand tightly clasped in his hand from when Draco had given it to him, taken from the body of the wizard who'd fallen from the lightning-struck tower so long ago.

Very nearly half a minute ticked slowly past, before the Dark Lord raised his wand higher, sending out a jet of pale sparks. The group around him, Death Eaters mostly with a few Snatchers mixed in, froze, falling silent.

The small army looked towards the pale figure; to his side stood, as always, Bellatrix Lestrange: wild eyed, hair tangled, with a new device strapped to her arm. Malfoy tensed upon seeing her, exhaling in slow relief upon realizing it couldn't be the one he'd killed: time travel perhaps, as the Doctor had mentioned in years past.

"Hogwarts castle is still standing," the Dark Lord began to speak, commanding the attention of all those present. His tone was almost mocking. "It is a fact which should change shortly. Within, people still plot against me, and some still train, foolishly hoping to combat us."

At that remark there were jeering titters among the crowd; cackles, laughter. Listening, watching carefully, Draco made the motions to act as if he shared the cocky amusement, all the while on guard. Was Voldemort holding anything which could be a Horcrux? There was the serpent curled by his feet, Nagini, and a glint of silver by his robe, was that the Sword?

"This is…unacceptable," Voldemort's voice was scarcely above a hiss. "None are permitted to resist me and so, shortly, we shall attack."

Though many in the crowd already knew it, there was still a buzz of excitement. The battle had already been planned, yet the knowledge that the attack was to come soon, the attack on the once-sanctuary, it had an unquestionable effect.

"The assault is coming," the Dark Lord's voice was suddenly hushed; Draco found himself instinctively tensing. "We will have the aid of a new…creature, one that sought us out. It is said to share our ideals. Many of you have already heard rumours that we have a new servant, I would like to introduce it to you."

Voldemort pointed his wand sideways, towards a clump of trees; Draco's eyes followed it, almost unwilling, darkly curious. Now his eyes were drawn to it, he could see something there, something in the darkness, mostly hidden yet, a small twisting of shadow here, a small shape there…

Slowly, gracefully, smoothly gliding forwards, the being floated over the rough ground, a muted blue shimmer below it. The creature was an odd shape; it was a shade of orange, mostly, with a domed 'head', and similarly round centre, with an expanding base covered in silver spheres. A stalk, tip reminiscent of an eye, came from the upper dome, and around the centre came a plunger, and a shorter, adorned addition; almost unmistakably some kind of weapon.

This new creature, Voldemort called it a servant yet it seemed somehow too imposing to have such a role, was eerily silent. It moved to the side of the robed wizard, eye-stalk fixed on the crowd, staring. A disturbed shiver ran through the group.

"What is your purpose?" Voldemort turned, spoke to the creature; demanding.

The eyestalk turned though the rest of the mechanical being was still: it stared into the Dark lord's pale face, unafraid, unaffected by the proximity.

"To ensure the dominance of the master race," its voice was grating, inhuman, unfeeling. The eyestalk swung back to the crowd, surveying; Malfoy froze as the gun twitched, though there was no more action.

"You see," the Dark Lord's voice was little more than a breath, "It supports the superiority of wizard kind. And the gifts we have taken have been most useful."

With this speech, the Dark Lord raised one, thin, pale arm, wand held high. A glint of silver in his robes; concealed mostly by the cloth draped over him, but just visible with him arm raised to the sky. A glint of silver; and for an instant, a ruby red. Unmistakable: the Sword of Gryffindor.

Draco was still uncertain; the being, the creature, Voldemort's new benefactor: it had not mentioned wizards or witches. Only the 'master race'; that could be anything, and from one look into that emotionless 'eye', Malfoy had a feeling he knew to whom the creature referred. Itself.

It seemed that the Death Eaters had similar misgivings. A ripple ran through the crowd, uncertain, distrusting of this strange, inhuman, mechanical creature. It might not have been for the most noble of reasons, but it was there; the Death Eaters valued their concept of purity over almost all else. They enslaved other races, despised the non-magical creatures, hated half-breeds, and now they were confronted with some kind of metal beast and expected to be grateful to it.

Of course, the Dark Lord could predict such prejudices; he himself had once held them.

When the creature was first found, the Dalek as the Doctor called it, it appeared to have crashed; a burning meteor across the sides, coming down with calculated accuracy, in the garden of the Riddle House. Voldemort had gone out to see it, and hated everything about it: the power it professed to have, the casual arrogance, the way it acted superior to even Voldemort, and most of all the lack of any magic.

Still, it came close to magic. The Dark Lord had, for once in his life, hesitated with dealing out death: it didn't seem to be alive in any sense of the word, at first he believed it to be purely a machine, and so killing curses appeared useless. It was only later that he discovered that a living creature dwelled within.

The Dalek had glided with eerie grace away, turning his back on the Dark Lord with an arrogance that made him burn. Voldemort may have been ready then, to melt the creature, to blast it to dust or simply cast the killing curse, when a jet of white-blue light shot from a strange gun-like appendage. A child wandering around the 'haunted' Riddle House fell lifeless to the ground.

Lord Voldemort just watched, laughing, impressed despite himself, as the Dalek single-handedly killed every villager in Little Hangleton. The people, Muggles, tried to fight back, throwing stones and knives and any number of things at the ruthless machine. Not even a scratch. The last of the Muggles had a truly delicious expression of terror on its face as it screamed a last cry, light from the strange, unearthly machine striking it down.

After being witness to such sport, the Dark Lord could hardly refuse when the eyestalk turned and the being grated: "_You will give us your magic. In return we will grant you technology that will allow you to be the master of this tiny world. You will serve us and be rewarded_." Refuse us and die; the unspoken final statement.

However, despite his enjoyment of the killing, and the many technological gifts, it was hard for Lord Voldemort to trust the creature completely. It was utterly callous, uncaring; there was no reason for it to support him, save for convenience. It wanted to learn and gain magic, an admirable goal Voldemort had to admit, but the way it took the lives of Little Hangleton… Too emotionless, even to the Dark Lord.

He killed for sport, to show his superiority and relish the fact: or in defence against wizards, though each drop of magical blood spilled was a tragedy. The Dalek cared nothing for this; it killed because it could, and Voldemort could not picture it making any distinction between magicians and Muggles.

Perhaps the technology had been granted to the head of the Death Eaters solely because they planned to take all away later. Whatever the case, he regarded the being warily.

"It is…not like us," a hiss from the pale dark wizard's mouth, "But it has served us, admirably so, and Lord Voldemort tolerates his servants."

He spoke deliberately inflammatory words; if it was capable of any such emotional responses, the Dalek would have bristled. There was a murmur among the Death Eaters; almost of hope. It sounded as if they would have to share nothing with the creature: they knew what was to come when Voldemort spoke like this. The Dalek would not live a second past the expiration of its usefulness.

"Return in one hour!" Lord Voldemort shouted, voice carrying through the clearing as he gave the command; a shout, a demand. "It is then that we will conquer Hogwarts. Be prepared for victory."

With that, wordless, the figure turned, cloak billowing for an instant before he, Bellatrix, and the mechanical creature disappeared into darkness. The group watching paused, talking amongst themselves slightly, before some began to disappear in more bursts of black smoke.

One hour; not much time. Draco turned, walking, soon running, hurrying away from the Forest. Neville and Luna should be waiting for him, around Hogsmeade. It was a start; and from there, he should be able to find away into the castle, where more of the Horcruxes no doubt lay. The locket, the diadem, the snake, the sword.

The snake was here with Voldemort, as was the Sword: the diadem and locket, that much he didn't know. If they were artefacts of the Founders however, Hogwarts was the most likely location.

"Where you going, boy?" a sneering voice, threatening, inhuman, came from just behind Draco. Malfoy turned, twitching the smallest possible amount as he saw Fenrir Grey-back. Werewolf; a truly savage follower. It was easier to believe that he was a wolf which became a man, rather than the other way around; he relished the bestial side of life more than anything.

"I'm allowed to walk," Draco looked up; met the wolf's eyes. An echo of fear; every movement Fenrir made was so, so animalistic. Any second, he might reach out; and Draco was never sure if he'd reach out with fingers or claws.

"You can't walk with no legs," the wolf's voice was on the verge of a snarl, exhaling quickly, nostrils quivering. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, inwardly afraid yet acting the haughty part; "I scent fear," Fenrir spoke again.

"The Dark Lord trusts me," Draco replied, falling back on the easy excuse. Then, in a flash of spite, Malfoy raised his arm, bearing the Dark Mark, something Grey-back did not have; "More than you."

"I know well the smell of a traitor," Fenrir's voice was at the level of a growl. The Death Eater turned, began to take slow, measured paces from Draco: his footsteps reminded Draco of those a lion might make before pouncing.

Scent; the blonde winced. He couldn't go to Neville and Luna then, else Fenrir would easily be able to find them. Grey-back was always more wolf than human.

A brush of grey in the forest; the blonde looked around quickly, catching a glimpse of a translucent silver. A ghost? Here? Urgent, Draco ran along the uneven ground, snapping a few twigs, curious and a little on-guard at the unusual presence.

The blonde slowed as the spectre came into view; it was a man, one Draco recognized. Rory, wasn't it? The man who'd been with the Doctor in previous years.

"Rory!" Draco shouted, wincing, instinctively muffling his voice as he called again. He didn't want Fenrir to listen in on this.

"Draco?" the ghost seemed surprised at the sight of the blonde. Before Mr Pond could continue, Malfoy quickly spoke.

"Listen, I need you to go to Hogsmeade; find Neville and Luna. They need to get into Hogwarts, but warn them, You-Know-Who's attacking soon. Remember all that."

Rory was about to speak, when Draco turned, quickly walking, running away. Must be in a rush. Mildly amused at his new vocation as messenger boy, and at the sudden influx of action so recently, the ghost of Rory Pond turned away.


	10. Doubt

**Sorry these updates are taking a fair while, I'll try to be quicker later. There's a fair bit of story progression, a little tied to the books, though with a couple of changes.  
>Enjoy! Dramatic things are due to happen soon. <strong>

"Where is he?" Neville muttered to himself, irritated, looking around the street of Hogsmeade, His hand was on his wand, ready to repel any more Dementors, should they approach.

Luna was to his side, yet silent, looking around. The normally bustling streets of Hogsmeade were empty; it was eerie, especially with the thin mist creeping up the walls, almost alive. Then she noticed another patch in the mist, the thick fog; softly luminescent, a grey similar to that of the cloud. A ghost, this far from the castle?

It was a ghost; a man, translucent as always, and despite a young physical age, he seemed old. So old. It was something in his manner; especially evident with ghosts, how he drifted, a careful, casual lilt, and his eyes; oh, his eyes. The mist made it all the more obvious.

Even though his clothes seemed strangely modern, he appeared older than almost all the other ghosts they'd seen. It was disconcerting, to put it mildly.

As the spectre drifted closer, Luna was able to identify him; Rory, the man with that eccentric Doctor. He'd been there in previous years.

"Draco sent me," he spoke as soon as he neared the duo, before they could talk. "You-Know-Who's attacking the school. Soon. He says you need to get inside."

"You spoke to him?" it was Luna who responded, surprised to hear of the contact. It was the first time she'd heard of Draco trusting anyone else. "Does he know how to get into Hogwarts?"

"He didn't say," there was a momentary pause. The ghost's translucent brow furrowed, as he remembered, recalled things he'd read. "But I think I know a way."

O

Minutes later, and Rory was surrounded by darkness. They'd found Aberforth, and his dwelling place: Rory remembered reading about a passage in the book. It went from the Hog's Head to the castle, and though the Room of Requirement hadn't forged the passageway, no students having any need of it, it was still possible to follow a path through the ground.

There was just darkness however; nothing else in front of his eyes. Just the endless rock, stone, mud; no light. It was hard to believe there was any detail in the earth before him; he expected texture in the stone, patches of mud, yet it was just impossible to see anything: no light was this far down.

Hesitantly, the ghost rose, until his eyes just peered out from the ground. He was close to Hogwarts. With another breath, more for a psychological rather than real need, Rory submerged himself beneath the ground once more. Straight on, drifting through solid stone. There was no way to tell that he was moving, he could but trust in his thoughts.

Many minutes later, and he tried to keep his body smaller, closer together; it was hard to express the way he'd turned, there was something in the ground, tinged lightly with magic which made his path curve upwards. Perhaps it was a trace of the Room of Requirement; whatever the case, he was slowly ascending, winding through the walls of Hogwarts. He did his best to not allow echoes of his body to appear in the corridors.

Eventually, Rory emerged from the seemingly featureless, ordinary wall. He paused for a moment, turning, surveying the students milling around. Then, back to the clear stone; it looked about right for where the Room of Requirement would be. But he couldn't open it; that needed someone living.

Another momentary pause. Who could he find, who'd help him? Plenty should, but those plenty were in the DA. He'd heard of many dying; he'd even seen one, a Ravenclaw girl, seemingly swallowed by a wall. No matter how he'd tried to help, he was incorporeal and achieved nothing: and despite frantic screams and shouts, no one heard and no one came.

Was there anyone still living who could help?

A teacher then. If the DA students were off the list, it would have to be a teacher: and from that thought, it took him seconds to come up with a good choice. McGonagall. From what he'd seen of her, she'd be happy to do all she could, in defence of Hogwarts, and of the students. And she was incredible in herself, maybe she could talk Aberforth into being less bitter.

Ghosts found it a great deal easier to move through the castle; instead of struggling with the ever-changing stairs, they could just descend or ascend through the floors. It took scarcely a minute before Rory found himself drifting into the Gryffindor Head's room. Minerva looked straight up, blinking as she saw the ghost.

"I need your help," Rory spoke quickly, urgently, as he drifted along the room; he came to a halt in the middle of McGonagall's desk. He'd been a ghost for so long that he found himself ignoring the solidity of objects.

"I assume it is important," there was a brief pause before McGonagall replied: she stood up. There was a slightly strange noise; a clip-clop of wood. Peering down, Rory noticed that a wooden board was place beneath the teacher's chair, covering the stone floor.

"Very," Rory responded, even as the teacher began to stride along the floor. Her footsteps were still just about audible on the stone. "It's about You-Know-Who. I think. How we can stop him."

In response to that, McGonagall said nothing; she simply strode to the edge of her classroom, until she was below the door way.

"And where is it I must go?" she turned and spoke, meeting the ghost's eyes. Her hand was on her wand and as the stone floor began to ripple, she closed her eyes, focused, and simply enunciated; "_Finite!_" A flash of light, and the stone stilled for the moment.

Rory began to lead the way; taking care to stay on stairs and paths rather than going on journeys through the walls and floors as he did so often. He wasn't sure how to respond to the teacher's brief reaction to the stones, yet it didn't really matter. She seemed to be fine.

It was another side effect of being a ghost, he supposed. Things seemed less important, less major. It was only Amy that stood out in his mind; vibrant, full of life though her eyes were haunted. He'd been forced to leave her, ashamed.

There'd been a moment when he'd reached out, to hold her hand gently; the touch had failed, his icy cold, misty form passed straight through her and he didn't notice until she recoiled.

He couldn't stand it. They couldn't touch each other, and if he tried, she shivered. It was more than he, more than any one could stand; to so desperately want to comfort someone, yet achieve the opposite with something as simple as holding hands.

So he'd left her, left Amy behind. Now he helped Draco, Neville and Luna, hopefully in a fight against Voldemort. Because he couldn't bear this, he couldn't bear a moment more.

The Room of Requirement; the echo came to a halt just in front of the featureless wall, looking back at Minerva, apologetic.

"We can use it," a pause, "It can make a path to a place in Hogsmeade, a safe place: Neville and Luna are there, and they want to get here. And, um, they can too, if you want them to. Really, just want them to get here."

There was a pause; McGonagall had heard of the Room of Requirement, especially with some of the Doctor's rambling. A room which fulfilled a passer-by's deepest need, should they have one, the DA had been there: no doubt it was what Seamus searched for when he was taken into the wall and killed.

She stayed she was, thoughtful. Intrigued; so presumably, this was that room. It was where Seamus had died. In that case, how did it work? Did she just have to think, and if so, about what? Rory had said Neville and Luna: so it was those she thought of, focusing on the idea of them. On confronting the Dark Lord properly, and succeeding.

She heard a strange rustling; and opened her eyes to see a door begin to form in the wall. Remembering Seamus, she tapped her wand against the door, murmuring 'F_inite Incantatem_' once, and once she was satisfied she'd step into the real Room of Requirement and not some constructed, lethal simulacrum, Minerva opened the door.

The room was bare; though, she accepted, there wasn't any need for decorations. It was just a long, winding circular passage, a tunnel, through the ground all the way to, presumably, Aberforth, Neville and Luna.

They set off.

The journey seemed quicker than Rory's journey up; though, then again, that might just be in his head. This time, there was some sense of time passing; McGonagall's wand was softly lit, casting shadows along the passage walls. There was some way to see movement, to feel time as it ticked past, rather than just plain, pure blackness of the earth.

At the end of the tunnel, they came across a flat, white board: the back of a portrait. A moment's hesitation there, before McGonagall extended her arm, tapping the tip of her wand once, lightly, on the wood. She was about to knock once more, when the portrait slowly pulled away.

Behind it was a fairly shabby room; occupied by an irritable, elderly, bearded man. Sitting by the wall, looking up, torn between impatience and gratitude, were Neville and Luna.

"I wondered where you two had gone off to," something akin to a fond smile pulled at Minerva's lips.  
>O<p>

Amy wandered up along the dirty ground, thoughtful, alone, impatient. She was to the side of Hogwarts, along the mound which led up to the castle itself, tired, alone. She couldn't help but feel guilty; she felt as if she'd pushed Rory away.

Somehow though, she couldn't bring herself to be sorry. It felt like a betrayal, having him close: his murderer resided in her mind.

Sometimes, she could still hear Bellatrix's voice, taunting, cruel. A snide commentary on the world around her, dismissing almost everyone else as pitiful and useless.

It made her want to scream. She satisfied herself with a sigh, resting by the walls of the castle. She fell sideways, sticking out an arm to support herself.

First she escaped Hogwarts, then she journeyed back. Now where? Was she to just pace around the castles until something happened? Maybe it was the Bellatrix within her, but she felt distinctly impatient. She needed to do something.

Horcruxes; the solution came to her quickly. It was perfect, she'd simply go after the Horcruxes. She'd managed to trick Roan, maybe she could do the same to others, Snatchers and Death Eaters alike. Use the remnant, the echo of Bellatrix in order to pose as the witch.

It made her sick to think of it, but it made her even sicker to imagine just doing nothing as Hogwarts was overrun. She was oddly pleased, however, to feel a twinge of anger; Lestrange. She wasn't happy with going after the Horcruxes, and that was the best reason Amy had found to do so.

"Horcruxes," she murmured to herself, voicing her self-appointed task. "I'll start to find them, the ones I can find. Do my best to destroy them."

The redhead nodded at that, preparing to step away from the castle, to start the search. She found he couldn't.

A glance sideways, to the wall; the bricks seemed to have forced their way out, and they wrapped around her hand, her fingers. It reminded her of putty, sponge, the way the stones had come out. Yet try as she might, she couldn't pull her hand away.

It was then she noticed how it pulled; coarse stone rubbing her wrist, coarse, yet firm. Irresistible. It wrapped around her fingers, and pulled closer, edging its way up her arm. A scream, more from shock than fear. Inexorably, the wall continued to tug, urging Amy closer, urging her into the stone.

She felt the stone dig in, uncomfortably to be sure, as it past her wrist. It was moving faster; and now she screamed, from real fear. Was this what happened on the roof? Had the stone beneath her sucked her downwards? Would she be lucky enough to survive this time?

Her elbow now. The wall continued to pull, straining, and Amy did her best to resist. The might of the castle drew her inwards. Another scream; she felt a stone touch her foot, glancing down to see the wall begin to push outwards now, actively seeking her out. She managed to wrench her foot away, but it wouldn't stay away for long; not with how her arm pulled the rest of her body closer, and closer.

A sudden bang, a rumble.

Amy was thrown back from the wall, stones rolling by her, along the grassy ground. She looked up; dust, and more rocks. Some large chunks, some scarcely the size of pebbles. Rough, shattered remnants of the wall. She looked up further; the place where she'd rested, which had tried to draw her in, was now a jagged gap, in the centre of which stood a statue.

It was a knight of sorts. Pure stone, yet a far more comforting sight than the eerily hungry wall. It raised a thick arm, stone fingers curling in the almost universal gesture for 'follow'.

A little taken aback by her rescuer, yet anything but ungrateful, Amy hesitantly got to her feet. She looked to either side of the jagged gap in the wall, wrecked by the brutish statue.

The knight gestured again. Follow.

Amy took one step forwards, and in a surprisingly graceful motion, the knight turned, beginning to take heavy, loud steps along the stone floor. Amy stayed silent, unwilling to say anything in case that activated the stone again.

She followed the knight through the castle.

O

Aberforth poured a glass of butter-beer for each of his pub's occupants, before roughly taking a seat to the edge of the room. He seemed disgruntled, irate at this use of his pub; while he had anything but sympathy for Voldemort, he also had a grudge against some of those who fought him.

Neville and Luna sat beside each other; McGonagall opposite them. Rory hovered, completing the circle. It was Luna who spoke.

"I wonder where the Horcruxes are." Her voice was thoughtful rather than curious, contemplating. "I suppose one would just be carried around, he wouldn't want to lose any." Her voice wasn't sarcastic, more wondering what would actually happen if Voldemort lost his soul.

"I can find them," it was Rory who spoke next. "I'm a ghost; no one notices me. And even if they do, there's nothing they can do about it."

"Do not assume immunity," McGonagall spoke, semi-harshly. "Unheard of spells have already been cast."

"I'll risk it," Rory shot back. He wasn't angry, but neither was he fearful: resigned. Life had already played out, and he couldn't even touch Amy. "So, which one first? There's the locket, that one's lost. I think I know where the others are."

The discussion was interrupted by a bitter, dry chuckle from Aberforth. The students and teacher turned to the elderly, darkly amused man as he straightened, to look up at them. He found things anything but funny. His eyes were coloured with something close to anger.

"You're like Albus's puppies. Caught up in his clever little schemes; you're kidding yourselves." The barman's hands were at his sides, tensed, but still. "Obeying his orders for no reason whatsoever."

"He didn't ask us to do this!" it was Neville who responded, with almost a shout; unable to bear hearing the once-headmaster being insulted

"That's my brother all right," a roll of his piercingly blue eyes, "Didn't need to ask. Had people falling over themselves to serve him."

"That is enough," Minerva finally interrupted the conversation, to turn her blazing eyes to the wizard. "I will not have you tainting the memory of Albus-"

"See him as he really is," Aberforth fell back in his chair, tiredly irritable. "He's using you. There's nothing that says you've got to do this, find those 'Horcruxes'. That's just you and unearned loyalty to a callous fool."

"Professor Dumbledore was a great man," McGonagall was almost shaking at the casual abuse.

"My brother was a liar, and if you think differently then you're kidding yourself."

"I-" Minerva was about to speak again when once more Aberforth interrupted, making her voice die in her throat. There was venom in his tone, more than she expected anyone to use when talking about Albus.

"And how long have you known him?"


	11. Inescapable

**Sorry this update took so long, but I should be managing them with a bit more frequency now. Dramatic chapter time!  
>Enjoy!<br>Also, please don't hate me. **

Rory drifted through the castle; but this time with purpose, urgently, searching. He was looking for a Horcrux, the locket; whoever had it, and wherever they kept it. That would be the easy part: as a ghost, there was nowhere he couldn't go. Then what? Well, he supposed, it would be easy to report. Neville, Luna, or maybe even Draco. Maybe McGonagall, so many possibilities.

There was one obvious place to look, to begin with; and it made him shiver. Bellatrix, she was clearly important among the Death Eaters, especially now she could travel in time. His murderer. It was some kind of instinct, but he knew he could trust it: Bellatrix definitely had a Horcrux, and chances were that it was the locket. After all, as he'd heard in previous years, she'd killed Mundungus, taken it from him.

Out of the castle now; he drifted far above the murky ground. To the Forest, that's where the Death Eaters were. He should be able to find her there.

It wasn't long until he reached the Forest: and then, he was exceedingly careful with how he moved. He concealed himself inside the trees, sneaking slowly forwards, peering out before speeding ahead. A careful look; Rory moved into another tree, gradually moving closer to the centre, where he'd seen the Death Eaters gather. Maybe they were still there, awaiting the assault on the castle.

Bellatrix stood a small distance away from the rest; alone, as always. Rory froze as soon as he saw her, wincing at the memories: a savage glare, wand pointed, aimed. A flash of green, tangled hair flying. It was an odd sensation, facing your murderer.

He flew at her. No time to think about it, and no time to be scared; most of all, no time for her to notice, focus on him. He was essentially unknown as he flew into her, chilling frame brushing straight through her body. He could see her shiver; feel the way her breath caught in her throat. The touch of a ghost, while not painful, was hardly comfortable. Icy. His eyes wandered over her as he rushed through her, again, again, spinning. While they were close for scarcely half a minute, he found himself rushing, unwilling to be close to her, let alone be recognized.

Finally, he twirled, fleeing hastily, straight into the trees: no more than a blur of faintly luminous grey. Bellatrix stared after him; hateful, annoyed, slightly shivering, yet in the dark. However, he'd seen it; the locket, pinned to a sash of black on her robes, to her side. Hidden to normal sight; but not to his, as he passed through her.

Neville waited by the side of the Forest; catching sight of Rory as soon as the ghost left the woods. The wizard raised a hand, calling out; glad to be on the next part of the plan, Rory drifted over to the student.

"Have you found it?" Neville spoke; voice urgent, on the verge of impatience.

"Yeah," Rory's ghost nodded, "In the sash on her side. Getting it now?"

"Of course."

Neville followed the spectre of Rory through the Forest: the wizard had levitated himself a few centimetres from the ground, avoiding the tell-tale sound of snapping twigs. It was mildly tiring, but they needed to catch the witch by surprise. Bellatrix Lestrange; Neville couldn't suppress a twinge of anger at the thought of her.

The plan was simple: as before, Rory would rush forwards, pass through the witch, the unpleasant sensation of a ghost's touch proving a distraction. He'd stay in front of her eyes; and she could do little about that, ghosts being immune to all magic (save for extremes, such as a Basilisk's glare, yet Rory doubted Bellatrix kept one of those near), and as Mr Pond kept the witch essentially blind, Neville would dart forwards, and steal the Horcrux. Rory would do his best to distract her until Rory was out of sight, and then flee himself.

Longbottom slowed, concealed, still levitating, above a tree; he watched Rory phase into a tree, quiet, observant.

Then, in a flash. Everything happened. Rory whirled forwards, a blur of grey; and Bellatrix was suddenly surrounded by that uncomfortable fog. The ghost writhed around her, through her; Neville darted forwards, just managing to reach out and grab the locket and the fabric in which it was held. The witch responded to that with fury; wand immediately in her hand and sending out killing curses blindly. Neville ducked, hastily weaving unpredictably away, making no sound; he gratefully slipped behind a tree, hidden, protected for a moment.

A sudden crash and rumble; he felt the tree behind him suddenly shudder, struck by a curse. He turned to see the trunk turn to ash and simply give way, the upper part of the tree beginning to fall. Eyes wide, urgent, Neville moved sideways; then continued his hasty flight from the Forest.

Several seconds later, curses passing through him with no effect, Rory hesitated for an instant; spinning in order to look around the Forest. Neville was gone; and he had the locket.

Wordless, the ghost sped off also, passing straight through the trees. In the same way he did not feel the curses flung around, he did not notice the piercing, hateful gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange on his retreating form.

O

The Doctor sat with McGonagall in thoughtful silence. He'd lost Amy, and despite McGonagall's request that the statues be sent to search for Amy, they'd yet to hear anything.

"They are searching for Horcruxes," Minerva eventually spoke, remembering an event earlier. Something the Doctor would probably need to know. "Neville and Luna. I have seen them; it is always remarkable, the bravery of students, to say nothing of their resourcefulness."

"Resourcefulness, yeah," the Doctor looked up; nodded, smiled. He seemed strangely distracted, thinking of Amy, of Rory. Did he ruin every life he came into contact with?

They'd come to Hogwarts, they'd practically been happy at the time. Now Rory had died, and Amy had been lost, perhaps dead, perhaps simply lost, taken by the stones of the castle. What was he to do? Well, he reflected, his best. Same as normal; the answer came to him in an instant. He'd save them, he'd find a way. He always did. Nearly always.

"Ah-ha!" the Doctor stood up suddenly, wincing. McGonagall looked up, expression between bemusement and fear: "Horcruxes! They'll need a way to destroy them."

"I believed you'd already planned that," Minerva spoke, amused now. She didn't feel any worry on the topic, not yet at least.

"Oh, why would I plan for something?" for a moment, there was a flash of the Doctor's normal, cheerful persona, though it was soon swallowed by worry, melancholy; "Back in a moment!"

With that, the Time Lord turned to run, leaping out the room; barely touching the floor. The Transfiguration teacher watched him depart, rolling her eyes.

Several minutes passed; she worked on several papers, marking the work of her Second Year class. Despite all the goings-on around the castle, she was still a teacher, and still had work to do. Approximately half way through the marking, she heard the door of her room open again; she finished the sentence she was on, placed the quill softly on the desk, before looking up.

"Ah, hello Mr Longbottom," she spoke, concealing the flicker of hope she felt at seeing him; had a Horcrux been found? He'd gone off to find one, and now he'd returned… She couldn't suppress an exhaled, soft, cheer when the student pulled out a locket from his pocket, chain clenched securely in his fist.

"Sit down," McGonagall lifted her quill once more, tilting the tip sideways, gesturing towards a seat. There was a pause; then Neville nodded, understanding, sitting on one of the chairs closest to the teacher, and lifting his feet from the floor until none of him touched the stone.

Neville dropped the locket; letting the oddly shiny gold fall onto McGonagall's desk. The teacher pulled the papers away from the artefact, eye focused on it; strange, she couldn't see anything amiss with it. If she didn't know that it contained a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul, she might even have worn it; an oddly chilling thought. How many dark artefacts had she passed by, how many had harmed someone, simply because they appeared innocent?

Tentatively, she waved her wand over the treasure; intending to levitate it. The Horcrux rejected the spell, shooting out a small plume of sparks; the corner of one of the papers started to smoulder, until quickly extinguished.

"I tried destroying it," Neville said, leaning forwards. "Nothing I know worked. Draco said he managed to deal with one, but I don't see how."

"Dark magic perhaps," Minerva mused, thoughtful, wondering when the Doctor would return.

She levitated the papers off the desk, and duplicated the desk itself so that she'd lose nothing from any attempts; then, when the locket was the sole thing atop the cloned desk, she began her attempts. First, fire, a conflagration enveloping the gold, easily hot enough to sear most normal metal; nothing. Second, a spell which would turn most structures to dust, followed by a severing hex which should have cleaved the locket in half. In the end, she resorted to transfiguration, her specialism, yet failed to have any effect on the Horcrux.

"I thought about openin' it," Neville began, hesitant; not sure whether to speak up; "I decided not to, might be dangerous."

"That would sound wise," McGonagall spoke slowly, thoughtful. She lifted up the Horcrux, holding the chain between two fingers, examining how the light reflected off the metal, the S. She raised her wand again; this time hesitant, almost guilty. Hand shaking. "If Draco was able to, perhaps…"

A pause. Then, upon rotating her wand so that it pointed sideways away from both Neville and herself: "_Avada Kedavra!_" A green flash of light illuminated the golden exterior of the locket for a moment; and it shuddered, quivered. The metal seemed almost to scream; before the chain became so hot that McGonagall dropped it, waving her wand over the burns on that hand.

"That was unsuccessful," she murmured, frustrated. She knew it had to go, yet could find no way to manage that; the only other spells she could think of doing, while they may have worked, they were too dangerous, nigh uncontrollable. She didn't attempt them; partly because it was hard to believe any conventional spell would succeed, and partly because she might do some serious damage to Hogwarts.

A pause. The chain of the locket began to slowly cool, leaving a blackened outline in the surface of the desk. Sighing, McGonagall murmured an enchantment, coating the Horcrux in a thin sheen of ice, freezing it to the table, trying to keep it under control. As she watched, the frost trickled away as water, polishing the artefact and dripping from the desk.

"Voila!" a voice cried, literally skipping into the room; Minerva looked up, exhaling in relief as she saw the Doctor. He was carrying his tweed jacket in one hand, bunched up so as to seem like a bag; "I hope you're happy, I think I might've wrecked this jacket," he dropped it onto her desk, just next to the locket; as it fell open, several curved, savage-looking fangs appeared. "From Basil," the Doctor grinned, "Basil the Basilisk. You know, Slytherin went through a lot of trouble, big dramatic Chamber, forbidding myth, scary heir, but he couldn't come up with a decent name for the snake."

Minerva rolled her eyes, not speaking; nothing to say when the Doctor was like this. Instead, she reached out and grasped one of the fangs by the root, turning it to face the locket. Neville stood up suddenly, taking a few steps back before quickly sitting on a table; keeping off the stone floor.

"Aren't you going to- um, wait a bit first?"

"Why would I wait?" McGonagall looked up, fang in her right hand and locket pressed to the desk with two fingers. She wasn't in the mood for theatrics.

Frowning, the Doctor mumbled something under his breath, to help the teacher; hearing the parseltongue, the locket clicked open, metal doors clinking on the table. For the duration of one second, there was a pulse of air; a few specks of dust lifted, the chain levitated somewhat, tense, urgent, a deep rumbling voice about to begin bellowing-

And McGonagall brought the fang down, easily piercing the Horcrux. Almost anti-climactic, the tension in the thrumming chain was lost, and it fell back to the desk, still. One more Horcrux destroyed.

Even the Doctor, normally so opposed to death and killing, felt a twinge of triumph. Not because he enjoyed murder; he just struggled to see the fragmented soul of Voldemort as anything like 'alive'.

O

The Dalek; orange colouring unseen in the darkness of the Forest. The Death Eaters were readying an attack, and the plan had been decided. Still, the witch wanted to do one more thing, first, before the main invasion took place. Her Lord would be angry; that locket, that Horcrux as she'd been trusted enough to be told, had been stolen from her.

That ghost, that meddlesome ghost. So now, here she was, in the room with the creature from the stars, to the side of the unsettling eye-stalk. It knew things; it knew power. The 'hybrid technology', and with her upgraded wand, she was capable of casting many more spells than were normal or natural.

"Dalek," she spoke the word like a regurgitation, remembering having heard it used in description. The domed head turned, slow, silent. "That's your name isn't it, Dalek?" She leant forwards, eyes wide in her pale face, tangled hair loose.

A pause. The eye within the stalk regarded her, watching, staring. It didn't even flicker at the expression which made many a wizard run.

"Speak," slow, grating tones. It cared nothing for her knowledge of the Daleks: she believed they used the Dalek, while the Daleks used her in order to learn of hybrid technology. She was a tool. A tool of a tool.

"Killing," Bellatrix murmured, lips twisted into a smile. "How can I kill something properly, make it never come back?"

The Dalek hesitated. An interesting conjecture. Perhaps it would also be successful on Time Lords; take the Doctor's life away in one shot. Even if she intended it solely for the wizards, stop them becoming ghosts, it would still be worthwhile. No temporal trickery either, remove even a psychic imprint; that would solve most problems. Utter erasure.

The creature calculated through every permutation of incantations, inventing several others as it incorporated the capabilities of the hybrid wand. Less than a second later, it spoke.

O

The Doctor ran beside the ghost of Rory; they'd heard something, a student had run to Minerva, shouted out about a stone statue standing stock-still in the Great Hall. A woman was in its arms; a woman with striking red hair, held by the stone hands, and apparently quite irritated that (due to a mistake in the phrasing of the statue's instructions) the stone knight would not let go.

"You again? Finally!" Amy rolled her eyes in the statue's grasp. "I thought this thing was meant to help me, but it's not letting go."

"Ah yes, well," the Doctor muttered hastily, sheepish. "I did tell it to find you, just didn't expect it so be so…eager."

Amy rolled her eyes, lifting on arm futilely; "I'll forgive if you let me out, ok Doctor?"

The Time Lord nodded, a little erratic, reaching into his pocket and hesitating when he couldn't find the sonic. A moment of worry; before Amy rolled her eyes again, fiddling with what she could reach before pulling the screwdriver from her pocket. The Doctor sighed in relief, twirling it in his hand before buzzing it, whispering a command to the statue. At that, the knight lowered its arms, unrolling; releasing the grateful redhead.

There was a moment's silence before the Doctor turned to Rory's ghost: "Permission to hug?"

"If I said no?" Rory seemed as much amused by the scene as anything.

"Oh, shut it, stupid face," Amy interrupted the exchange, leaping forwards to wrap her arms around the Time Lord. The Doctor fell a couple of steps back, before tentatively returning the embrace.

After about a minute, Rory's spectre coughed somewhat loudly. A little flustered, the Doctor stepped back, watching Amy give an amused smirk; soon turning to melancholy as she saw her husband once more.

"Thanks," she murmured, quiet, to Rory. Thanks for taking her out the Forest, warning her; probably saving her life, and thanks for coming when she'd been stuck in the statue's grasp. So much to say, and not enough words to express it.

"Don't mention it," Rory gave a transparent smile, "You know-"

Whatever Rory was about to say was then lost. A rumble, a bang; the sound of the wall giving way, partly in explosion, and partly as the stones crawled away themselves: smoke, rubble as bricks fell. Dust filled the air, creating what was essentially another wall; they couldn't see outside. Whatever spell could do that to the wall was unnaturally powerful; hybrid, no doubt, the Doctor reflected.

The gap had been in the wall for scarcely a second, when a voice was heard; a woman's voice, unstable, insane. "_Avada Ker Perago!_" The snarled incantation was accompanied by a jet of deep emerald green light, a few small sparks of dark lightning emanating from it as it whirled into the castle.

There was a gasp as it hit someone; but no one saw it strike, momentarily the students in the Great Hall, as well as any others, were distracted; the hole just beyond the teacher's table. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped inside, wild eyes surveying the castle; "Revenge!". A mad laugh as she raised her wand once more, beginning to cry out the strange, new, hybrid incantation.

She was interrupted as nearly every student in the room pointed their wands at her, shooting whatever curses they knew. Easily recognizing the Death Eater on sight, they were easily willing and capable of attacking; the younger fired only sparks, while some shot stunning hexes, a wide array of jinxes shooting through the Great Hall. The air turned white with magic and flame.

The smoke cleared in an instant; Bellatrix stood, unscathed, wand raised and easily holding a shield hex with her advanced wand. A savage grin; "_Avada Ker Perago!_" she yelled the hex once more before taking a step back; then another.

A Second Year girl fell to the stone floor, struck by the hybrid green. Her skin was instantly pale, her eyes white, body rigid, turned icy cold in a second. She wouldn't be getting up.

As the students continued to fire their hexes and curses at the retreating, laughing witch, the Doctor looked sideways. Amy was on her knees, sobbing,

The first victim of Bellatrix's hybrid curse stood between them: Rory Pond, Last Centurion. There was a gaping hole in the centre of his ghostly form, green light crackling at the edges of it. The gap was just that; a hole, a break in the fog of his body, slowly growing, spreading. There was silence until, alarmingly fast, most of his torso had faded. The green light had flickered away, yet the decay continued.

"Not again," Rory tried to inject some levity, some amusement. The feeble stab at humour failed, and his faux smile vanished. His eye twitched; for the first time in centuries, he was beginning to feel pain, an odd tingling. Pinpricks. He didn't want to look down; didn't want to see how his legs and arms composed four different, separate sections of mist.

Amy just stared, tears in her eyes. She didn't want to lose him again. Her red hair fell loosely to the sides of her face, and that hated segment of Bellatrix Lestrange within her was silent, overcome by the intensity of her emotions, the emotions which were just so _Amy_. Sadness, regret: tragedy at the loss of Rory.

The spectre began to descend, fall into the floor; it was barely noticeable. His legs had gone, his feet were thinned, fading clouds. His head was the only substantial part of him left; eyes wide, moist, mouth open in a sentence he couldn't yet say; a sentence he didn't yet know.

His face was level with Amy's. The beginnings of speech acme from his mouth, a false start. His fingers prickled, burned for an instant, before fading altogether, until he couldn't even remember how it felt to possess them. Only that head remained, translucent, and still fading, sand trickling down an hourglass, leaving, going away. Forever.

The Doctor had nothing to say; and nothing to feel save for guilt. A tear fell down Amy's cheek, splashing on the cold, cruel stone. Rory turned to look at her; almost smiling.

"Amy," he began, inhaling softly, staring at his wife.

He said no more. Bellatrix's curse spread pitilessly fast, erasing much of his fact before he could say any more. His eyes stared out at Amy, immeasurably, old, immeasurably sad-

And then they too were gone, mist blown away by the morning breeze, and the only noise was Amy's tears.

_End of Part One_

**No, this isn't the end of the story, I'm not (quite) that evil, but if they can split the movie into two parts, I can do the same for this. Besides, it's a long one anyway... Updates will still be part of this story, I'm just being overly dramatic.**


	12. Recovery

**Beginning of Part Two! This will be the more dramatic of the two parts, for obvious reasons. Bonus points for those who can spot a reference to the classic series.  
>I hope you enjoy. And sorry if I'm a little over-the-top, it's fun! <strong>

Luna was alone, walking down the less-frequented corridor. She knew who resided down here. Quiet, the pale blonde walked through the hollow stone, the only light being starlight from the distant opening.

She turned, towards a more secluded room; no natural light in there. Hesitant, Luna lifted her wand, mumbling _Lumos_, peering around, pausing only as she saw a softly luminous grey in the distance, resting by the stone wall.

"H-hello?" the Ravenclaw called softly, lowering her wand gently. The ghost turned its head, miserable, eyes moist, perpetually on the verge of tears.

It was a woman; pale with dark hair pulled back severely, grey, dressed in clothes of an era long past. The Grey Lady.

"Hello Luna," the Lady replied, soft; almost grateful at the girl's presence.

Luna felt somewhat guilty at being here: she preferred the companionship of the Grey Lady to anything else, yet upon thinking about the Horcrux, the 'diadem' occupied her thoughts. If it really did belong to one of the Founders, it could only be Rowena's, and the only person who'd be able to locate it would be the Grey Lady.

"Helena," Luna's voice was still quiet as she moved across, sitting on a ridge in the stone. There was silence as the two odd friends sat beside each other; one living, one dead.

Quiet; Luna looked sideways, tilting her head. Despite her aim, she was perpetually fascinated by the way light seemed to ripple over the woman's grey, smoky form. A soft breath.

"Can we talk?" Luna murmured, thoughts nervous though none of it was translated into her voice. She sounded dreamy, displaced as ever.

"Luna," Helena spoke quietly, her voice filled with an indecipherable emotion, yet also open. "Of course we may talk. You listen to me, it is fair that I listen to you."

"Thank you," Luna hesitated once more, "Can you tell me about your mother's diadem?"

There was a pause; the Grey Lady looked away, hiding her face with her flowing hair.

"Ah, the diadem," she whispered. "Will it never stop haunting me?"

"I'm sorry," Luna's voice was soft as normal, yet more melodic; chiming.

It was the desperation of events: she was desperate, everyone was desperate. Even if it wasn't completely clear, and even though they weren't running around frantically, anyone attempting to resist Lord Voldemort would soon enter into desperation. She didn't want to hurt Helena, but had no choice.

"Do not be," the Lady looked back at Luna, "It wasn't your fault. I should never have…"

There was silence for a few seconds more. Luna regretted asking, yet knew how much she needed the answer; the diadem had to be a Horcrux.

"Last time I spoke about it, it was to _him_," Helena Ravenclaw seemed to ripple for a moment, shivering. "I know you won't betray me Luna, but…forgive me if I seem reluctant."

"I understand," Luna somehow brought herself to smile. "I want to undo what he did. Don't worry." A pause; "Do you know where it is now?"

"Hidden in the castle," Helena's voice was nearly silent; ashamed. "I should have told people earlier, I was just too ashamed. Too proud. It can only be found when you know what you're looking for. The Room of Coming-and-Going."

"Room of Requirement?" Luna spoke softly still, doing her best to comfort the spirit.

"I have heard it called that." The Grey Lady looked down once more.

Luna stood slowly, looking quietly back at the ghost. Her thanks were interrupted by a sudden, loud, thundering: the blonde looked around, surprised, unable to see any source of the deafening rumble.

"Go," the Grey Lady waved a transparent hand, "I know who is here. Luna, please, fix my mistake."

O

The Death Eaters and supporters massed at the crest of a hill, Lord Voldemort at the head, Nagini circling around his feet. The Elder Wand was grasped tightly in his hand, pointed towards the castle; to one side stood Bellatrix Lestrange, to the other, having shuffled his way to the head of the group, was Draco Malfoy. Some still honoured him for killing Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape stood just behind the blonde; and just behind the greasy haired wizard stood Fenrir Grey-back, jowls quivering as he eyed Draco, wary.

As they watched, light was emanating from the castle; white, grey, pale, pale blue: a variety of shielding charms rising, winding their way around the castle until Hogwarts was enveloped in a barely visible cocoon of immensely powerful magic. The Dark Lord curled his lip.

"So," Voldemort's voice was eerily calm, measured, "They resist." A moment of silence, before he turned sideways; "Bella. I have given you a task, I ask that you do not disappoint me."

"Yes, my lord," Bellatrix bowed unnecessarily low, her eyes never leaving the distant castle.

The pale dark wizard turned back to face the school, breath hissing out through his teeth; his eyes wandered up his thinly robed arm, to the powerful wand gripped between slender fingers, still pointed straight for the castle. Imperceptibly, he adjusted his grip, pointing the wand ever-so-slightly higher, to the left.

"Let them see what they face." One calm, controlled statement seemed to burn away any composure that the Dark Lord had. With that, he moved his wand back, before jabbing it forwards in a sudden motion, whole body moving with the gesture: a yell came from his lips, a deep scream of exertion and triumph.

A jet of blue/white light emanated from the tip of his wand, thin, pointed. In the courtyard, the Doctor shivered as he looked up at it: despite all the shield charms he'd convinced the teachers to use, that light still made him shiver. Uncannily similar to a Dalek's weapon. It struck the castle towards the top of a tower, just by the apex of the scar Bellatrix had made in the stone years ago: and the hybrid-spell splintered any of the stone as if it were no more than a pile of leaves in autumn. Blown aside, sent flying away in a flurry of motion: the shield around the castle seemed to part around the curse, letting the light cut straight through the distant tower.

As Voldemort lower his wand, there was nothing to do but watch; the tower was beginning to fall, the top floor or so cut away by the Dalek-inspired hex. And in but a second, it had started to topple, beginning to fall the immense distance, to crush those below-

A great cry arose from the castle, audible even to the far away Death Eaters: a levitation charm, so simple, yet needed to be far more powerful than anything they'd had to cast before: yet, slowly, they succeeded, the plummeting descent of the tower's tip becoming no more than a crawl; and then, slowly, it began to rise.

Seconds later, it was thrown aside, allowed to leave the shielded castle, rolling slowly down a hill. Away.

It was more powerful magic than many wizards there had ever seen, more powerful than many would ever expect to see. And yet the Battle of Hogwarts had only just begun.

O

"Neville!" Luna's voice echoed along the corridor, as the boy ran through the castle, searching for any more clues. He stopped, turning to the blonde; "The diadem," even now, Luna's voice was strangely sing-song. "It's in the Room of Requirement."

"Thanks," Neville nodded, quickly; unable and unwilling to expend time on pleasantries, not now the castle was under attack from such powerful magic. Looking out a slit in the wall, he could see the shield charm already burning away; silently, he tossed a basilisk fang to Luna, before turning to head for the Room of Requirement.

O

Amy wanted to be alone. She wandered out of the crowds, eager to escape the tumult, the noise. To be alone with her feelings, and alone with that now-active, mocking, cruel witch's voice in her head. Out into a lonely stone corridor; where she fell against the wall, and slumped to the floor.

She didn't care if the stones swallowed her; yet it made no sign that it was going to do so. Did it now think she was Bellatrix? How should she feel about that? It was saving her, yet she was being mistaken for Rory's murderer.

And in an instant, she was staring out new eyes. Lord Voldemort was standing behind a charge for the castle, Bellatrix to one side, and Draco to the other. A trio of dark wizards, it seemed.

"My lord," it was Draco who spoke; Amy felt 'her' head turn, disturbingly fast. "May I be permitted to join the attack? Longbottom and Lovegood are in the castle, I've been following them and I don't want to stop now."

"By all means, Draco," The Dark Lord's voice was barely above a hiss; he lifted one arm, gesturing towards the distant castle, Hogwarts, a line of light surrounding it: not a shield charm, but rather a sign of the duelling, the defence of Hogwarts against the Death Eaters.

The blonde soon broke into a run, towards the distant building. Amy found her head turning once more, this time to the pale wizard.

"I don't trust him," her voice was arrogant in the extreme, yet bore some out-of-place sign of respect for the wizard before her.

She was conscious of a strangely large number of things: the chill bite of the air, the weight of metal around her torso (a primitive vortex manipulator, somehow she instinctively knew that. Bellatrix's knowledge), the texture of the wand in her hand…

"Patience Bella," it was always eerie, hearing Voldemort speak in such measured tones. "Presently, I trust none. It matters not, the one prophesized to defeat me is no more. We shall see what he does, and if he betrays us, he will die," the calm with which the sentence was pronounced made Amy shiver. "Now, I believe you were given a task-"

The redhead blinked, shaking her head, hair swinging madly, to escape the visions. She'd seen through Bellatrix's eyes, similar to how Harry had seen through Voldemort's. It scared her, the depth of the connection: thankfully Bellatrix had made no Horcruxes, so while a fragment of her soul lingered in Amy, it wasn't fastened there.

She looked up, examining the tiny cracks that ran through the coarse grey wall opposite her, the chips; tiny little imperfections in the stonework. A distraction, everything was a distraction. She didn't want to end up thinking about R-

She focused on the noises, the sounds; the Doctor was running around the room, audible through the wall. Some wear casting magic to repair the wall, she remembered, while others were heading for bed, and others listening to McGonagall and lining up outside the Room of Requirement (to evacuate from Hogwarts, when she had time enough to open the passage to Aberforth's bar). Her impatience could be heard in her voice; she wanted to do that, as well as join the defenders outside. Perhaps call for some assistance.

"Ok," the Doctor's voice could be heard. "I'll need saltpetre, sulphur, fat, and a few extras. Ooh! And a few tiny little sacks for it, thanks, bring them here in a minute, should help delay Tom." With that, the Doctor fell silent; Amy could almost picture his child-like grin falling away. She heard him leave the room.

"Hello Amy," his voice was deeper now, almost scratchier. She felt him sit beside her; she didn't turn. She couldn't. Focus on the stone. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," the stone, the stone

"Believe me, if there was anything I could do. No matter how hard I try, I can never save everyone."

"And you won't rewrite it," Amy's voice was a monotone; if she showed even the tiniest drop of emotion, it would all come flooding out. The stone.

"I can't," the Doctor looked away. "I'd be changing my personal past. And you know that's-" the Time Lord cut himself off. Now wasn't the time for the mechanics. "Do you still want to go back to Leadworth, after all this is done?"

"Yeah," Amy said again, quiet. The stone. Blink. The stone- "Doctor," she spoke again, a note of curiosity in her voice, "There's- she's-" she stopped. Bellatrix was in her head, Rory's twice-murderer. There was no way to explain.

"Bellatrix," the Doctor murmured softly. The redhead blinked; her eyes at last leaving the wall, looking at the Doctor. They were moist in an instant.

"How did you know?" She turned; back to the wall. The stone, the stone. She could feel a tear start to fall.

"I guessed," he admitted. "Only thing that made sense, with…" he stopped himself again. He wasn't an expert on human emotion, but he'd learnt enough. Don't talk too much.

There was silence. Amy stared at the wall, tuning out almost everything. Ignoring the murmurs in the corner of her mind, the impulse to get up, run, destroy everything she could, kicking and screaming. Ignore the feeling that knowing whatever Bellatrix had been tasked to do was just a thought away. Ignore her emotions as her mind turned back to Rory, that translucent head, alone, in mid-air as he faded away.

"Do you want me to help?" the Doctor turned until his whole body faced Amy, kneeling.

"Like you could," she didn't want to sound dismissive, didn't want to be callous. It was Lestrange; no matter how hard she tried, there was that taint in her personality.

"I could," the Doctor murmured, eyes burning. "Time Lord, telepathic. If you want me to, I could pull her out of your head, free you," he lifted a hand, moved it nearer to the redhead's temple. "Do you want me to?" he spoke softly.

A pause. Amy suppressed the urge to turn and shout 'yes'. She wanted it, oh she wanted it so much; free her of this corruption. But could she? Was it just selfishness? She remembered Roan: the Snatcher. She'd convinced him that she was Bellatrix, from stolen memories, from borrowed personality traits: more powerful a deception than any mimicry could normally be.

"No," Amy shook her head, speaking quietly. "No," repeated with more force; "I want to be able to do something. You have your knowledge, everyone here has magic, and then there's me. I want to help, not just watch."

"Amy," the Doctor lowered his hand, shaking his head slowly but speaking with a soft reverence. "You don't have to go through it. It's perfectly fine if you don't."

"You don't understand," the redhead sounded as if she were going to continue that thought; yet halted herself. Instead, she contented herself with an explanation: "Earlier, there was a Snatcher. Roan. I convinced him I was Bellatrix, and escaped; if I could do that again, and keep away from You-Know-Who or any Legilimens, I could do anything. Don't say you could do without it Doctor, I've seen how you're handling things, you're scared we might not succeed. If this is how I can help, then Ill do it."

The Doctor continued to slowly shake his head; yet he did so with a solemn respect. He slowly stood, moving to leave Amy alone. The stone seemed to be fine with her presence now; had it given up on her now, or was it too beginning to think she was Bellatrix?

A crack in front of the Time Lord: he blinked, looking down.

"Pokey!" the Doctor cracked into a grin as he saw the small house-elf; it carried an armful of ingredients along with a clump of small sacks. "Are those what I asked for? Perfect!"


	13. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Update time! This is my action-y dramatic chapter. Just because. Couldn't resist doing soemthing for the Battle of Hogwarts.  
>Anyway, bonus points if you can spot the reference to classic story<em> The Time Warrio<em>r.  
>So, anyway... been a while since I killed someone who was actually alive, hm?<strong>

The Death Eaters rushed towards Hogwarts. A sudden rush; a mass of black-garbed wizards and witches in almost a stampede, lights flashing as they neared the castle. A curse hurtled towards the stone walls; vanished as it struck a shield charm. Then, seconds before the front row of the horde would have touched the shield, a jet of light from Bellatrix pierced the protection, searing the closest wall.

And the Death Eaters passed the shield, entering the once-sanctuary.

A flash of light, and then another. Soon, a whole storm of them; one side threw a curse, and a member of the other side responded in kind, offence matched with defence, and vice versa.

One of the Seventh Years stood near the front walls, doing her best to prevent as many as she could from pouring into the Foyer. She stood on the grass, just by the stone. With every breath, she cried out a curse, a hex, a charm; with one, she summoned a Death Eater's wand from his hand, and with another she set a Snatcher's robes aflame.

She cast no shield charm; reckless perhaps, but if she protected herself from every spell thrown, she wouldn't be able to spare any time for protecting the front gates. Beside, a strong spell would shatter the shield; and someone had broken through the dome put up by all the teachers; that was a far more powerful spell than she could put up.

A peculiar sensation ran up her arm as it was struck by a hex; it felt scratchy, yet lethargic. She ignored it, swapping her wand from one hand to the other, not looking at the oddly coarse flesh She didn't want to know what that curse had done; with a yell, she stunned a sprinting Death Eater, causing another to trip and fall.

Running through the courtyard behind her, finding themselves almost enjoying the confrontation, were Fred and George; they worked in tandem, throwing out shields and curses in equal measure, occasionally throwing out pinches of a sooty powder which concealed a section of the floor in instant darkness.

They were light-footed; in fact, they were levitating somewhat, due to silver bracelets they wore (originally intended as a prank: give it to a friend and watch their faces as they fly). Similar bracelets were worn by all defenders; they couldn't touch the stone paths. The toughest part was keeping away from the walls while zipping around; yet they managed, narrowly avoiding a great many hexes and defending the few people they could.

"George!" one redhead cried, gesturing to one side; to an archway leading into the school. A woman, with deep red, borderline black, hair, face concealed behind a Death Eater's mask, was attempting to sneak inside.

"_Stupefy!_" cried one of the twins; striking a shield charm she'd been holding: at the same instant, the other twin shouted:

"_Reducto!_" and sent a jet of light to the top of the archway, turning the keystone to dust and blocking the way into the castle. Hastily, they returned to defensive spells, doing their best to defend Hogwarts, prevent anyone from clearing the now caved-in entrance.

Weaving through the corridors of the castle, students and the Order alike duelled with Snatchers and Death Eaters, holding their own remarkably well. Several Ministry employees, distinctly unhappy with the changes to the system, had switched sides and now fought with the Muggle-borns and supporters they'd once decried.

Lupin and Tonks were back to back, a few centimetres above the cold, chipped stone floor; the only part of the normal floor remaining, the rest worn away by the fierce duelling around them. Their shield charm managed to protect it as the couple worked in unison.

Students and attackers lay stunned or lifeless, chillingly huge groups unmoving on the ground. Fallen.

"_Halt!_" it wasn't a spell, yet the sound echoed with the intensity of one; a voice echoing in the minds of everyone in or near the castle, no source visible yet one instinctively known. It was the voice of Lord Voldemort, delivering a command to all those who fought for or against him. "Disobey me and die. Listen to me, and _stop!_"

Everyone froze. Almost everyone; hearing something new in the Dark Lord's voice. Self-assured, more than normal; almost anticipating.

For the few that moved, Voldemort's word was fulfilled. A hybrid spell enveloped the castle; and any fast or unnecessarily large movement was sensed; and the person turned to ash, smoke forming from the air around the part of them that moved, before running over their bodies. Often, it covered a limb by the time they screamed; and that scream was cut off as the crimson-flashing smoke enveloped their whole bodies. Occasionally, they still screamed of agony even as the oppressive blackness covered their faces; but less than a second later, the smoke dissipated and dark ash fell to the ground.

The prohibition affected Death Eaters and defenders alike; not yet a master of hybrid technology, Voldemort was forced to apply it indiscriminately.

"Each drop of magical blood spilt is a tragedy. Wizard should not fight wizard," the Dark Lord's voice sounded once more, resounding in the heads of the frozen castle. "I have no wish for you all to die; and as you have seen, it is something I could have achieved. Instead, I ask for the Pure-Bloods and true wizards to join me. Only then will you be able to survive this day."

As the pale wizard had been speaking, deep within the castle a man had been slowly moving. The Doctor; his arm drew back, with a speed so slow it appeared to the spell to be no more than the body's natural movement, its natural shivers. Slowly, his hand slipped into his pocket. Click; for a moment it seemed that the deadly smoke was to appear; yet any such curse faded quickly. The Doctor strode forward, easily, carefully, sonic screwdriver buzzing in his hand, resisting, countering the spell.

"If you face me, you will die," Voldemort continued with chilling matter-of-factness, "There is no way to change that. Join us and live, fight us and die. The choice is yours."

He seemed about to conclude, perhaps to order a withdrawal for his followers, allow the students a chance to choose. Before he could however, a strong, magically amplified voice rang out through the castle: Minerva McGonagall, protected from the prohibition of movement by the Doctor.

"We choose to live," Minerva's voice was clipped, yet powerful: she seemed to be speaking in her normal tone yet the amplification made it seem like shouting. "We choose to stand for what Hogwarts has always stood for," a strange hush fell through the castle; surprised catches of breath at McGonagall as she moved despite the curse. Her voice cried out defiance, re-energized the Order and similar students. "The winners have not been decided yet, Voldemort."

Her casual use of his name seemed to enrage the dark wizard more than her flagrant disregard of the prohibition. Yet when he next spoke, his voice was measured, calm on the surface yet burning with a cold fire.

"So be it," he didn't need to say much; everyone in Hogwarts felt the hybrid curse lift, and the battle begun once more, now free to move.

"I said something quiet," the Doctor muttered to himself, twirling and pocketing the screwdriver, "Something to give them confidence, not to provoke the most evil wizard of all time."

"I doubt you would have behaved any differently Doctor," Minerva replied, turning to slowly descend from the corridor outside the Room of Requirement, where the last of the younger years had been evacuated.

The Doctor considered that for a moment; but did not have the time to respond. McGonagall had left him. Sighing, and tossing a small sack of mixed ingredients from one hand to the other, he continued to ascend to the battlements of the castle, Amy by his side.

Lupin and Tonks continued to fight, keeping themselves safe and building an impasse for any Death Eaters attempting to move through that corridor.

"How many of them do you think there are?" Tonks murmured, her free hand creeping back and lightly holding Lupin's; his wand hand had been burnt by an earlier curse, meaning he kept it loosely to his side. Tonks gently cradled it; some form of contact, some way to know he was there as she was forced to stand with her back to him.

"Too many," Lupin murmured, soft. "Sorry for putting you through this."

"Don't be, I want to help," Tonks paused; Remus could feel her smiling. "Ted's safe at least."

Lupin smiled to himself, moving his wand in a wide circle, recharging his shield and sending out a chain of spells, some sent to simply counter the offenses, and some stunning his assailers.

A whole storm of light surrounded him; flurries of red, green, yellow, white. Blinding, his shield almost ablaze with intensity.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" a rough, man's voice sounded across the din, almost a roar, inhuman. Green light illuminated the whole room, every coarse dune in the floor. Lupin hesitated, eyes darting from side to side; he couldn't see the caster.

Then he felt Tonks slump behind him, her weight pressing into him. He turned, catching her in his burnt arm and slowly lowering her to the floor. She wasn't breathing; and standing, facing her, wand outstretched, stood Fenrir Grey-back, chest visibly rising and falling in savage exultation.

It was then Lupin lost any semblance of real humanity, descending to his primal, wolfish nature. Furious, sad: insane with inconsolability. His wife lay lifeless on the stone floor.

A flash of light across the room; and then another. Instead of raising a shield, he threw curses of his own at each attack from Fenrir, cancelling the spells in an explosive burst. He ignored the battle around him, though, from the corner of his eye, he was able to judge and thus step away to avoid those incoming curses. He approached Fenrir, closer. Furious: anger was too mild a word. He move his wand in a vicious X, sending to wrathful streaks of light forwards; one struck Fenrir. The werewolf reeled.

Remus Lupin watched, in touch with his wolfish side more than he ever had been before. Remus had died with Tonks; now he only lived in emotion, pure emotion, whether pure sadness or uncontrollable rage with this, this murderer.

"_Avada_," the unforgivable curse began with a roar-

Before a far more practised voice intoned the spell rapidly, sending green light spinning across the room and striking the once-teacher. Lupin fell, sprawling to the side. Fenrir straightened himself, managing to turn, to see his rescuer.

Bellatrix Lestrange looked down at Lupin, curling her lip. "Werewolves. Pathetic." She looked up, seeing Fenrir for the first time. "I don't have time for you."

And with that, she casually, confidently, strode past the wolf, through the throngs of duelling wizards and witches. She had her own task, no one would stop her.

Grey-back paused for a moment, before being brought back to reality by a curse flung towards him. Irritable, he twirled his wand; disarming the caster and dragging the young wizard towards him. Evidently some of the under-age had managed to stay behind; he rolled his eyes, taking a bite out from the wizard's warm neck, relishing the taste and momentarily overcome with the desire for the full moon to come again.

Then, Fenrir also turned, letting the student fall to the ground. He was looking for someone in particular. Distrusting, and trusting his senses, his instinct. There was a traitor in the Death Eaters, and he knew who it was.

The were-wolf ascended through the castle; the interior was mostly deserted, save for a few occasional skirmishes, and blockades like that once held by the now lost Lupin and Tonks. People were too afraid of the almost-living stone. Still, it was good; helped Fenrir navigate. He'd seen distinctive, pale blonde hair atop the battlements, the boy looking out over the battle.

Grey-Back muttered a gruff '_Reducto_', to get through a wall, unwilling to bother travelling around, and ascended a small flight of stairs, nearing the battlement. He stopped at the sound of voices;

"Plan work then?" it was him! That familiar, drawling tone.

"Yeah," an unknown voice spoke; a boy, a student, "The Doctor destroyed it. He knew how; more than McGonagall, she tried everything she could think of and still didn't."

"Resilient little things," the drawler muttered, almost bitter. "Figured out where the next one would be, the diadem?"

"Yeah, heading for it now. Room of Requirement. Then it's the Snake and the Sword, right?"

"Exactly," a pause; "I'm watching for the Dark Lord from here, he's keeping the snake close to him." Fenrir stiffened; such blatant admission of betrayal! "I need a chance to kill it in this ruckus, so I'll have a chance to get close without being stopped."

"Good luck," the other student, the stranger, seemed oddly reluctant in saying the words; and the blonde traitor noticed, hesitating a few seconds before replying. He hadn't been expecting something so cordial.

"You too," a pause; "I think I'll go see the Doctor, sounds like he knows plenty."

That last sentence was the traitor simply musing to himself in that hateful drawl; Fenrir looked out, through a door, to see the other student, dark haired (looked similar to those old Aurors, Frank and Alice) move across the battlements.

There weren't many people up here: the area was vulnerable, so not a good place to be in the middle of the battle, and had no tactical use: there was no real reason to come up here, let alone fight for it.

"Draco!" Fenrir roared, leaping forwards onto the battlements, now content that the other student had left; the blonde turned more at the sound of footsteps than the voice, throwing up a magical shield in an instant, narrowly surviving a searing flash of white. "Traitor!"

Malfoy winced, annoyed his deception had been uncovered; yet momentarily grateful it was Grey-back who'd found him. Apparently it was the lupine senses which helped him figure it out, but those same senses made him essentially an outcast among Voldemort's followers. Accepted on sufferance; he wasn't even branded despite his service.

Light flashed between them, each spell parried or reflected; Draco wincing at the hurried motions. In some ways, the duel against Bellatrix had been easier: that was about intelligence, about tactics. With Fenrir, it was purely about ferocity. The were-wolf howled out curses and hexes, sending them battering against a shield charm while knocking any retaliatory spells away. Malfoy found himself tiring: in a normal duel, he'd have won by now, most likely. If there was anything else he could use, anything else in the surroundings which gave him the ability to use his mind. Brain rather than brawn.

Grey-back fought like a wolf, each hex a howl, each curse a swipe: and Draco frantically defended himself, weaving intricate patterns in the air solely to deflect the attacks. He took a step back as the half-mad Fenrir advanced.

The blonde's eyes flashed in a plan. He winced, guilty, at the though: but didn't relent. He took a step sideways, backing away from Fenrir, robe shuffling up his arm as the force of the magic made him come dangerously close to the wall of the stone battlements.

"I'm a Death Eater!" Draco shouted, "You'd harm me?" the words made him sick; and the furious glint in Grey-back's eyes made him shrink back. The wolf cast one more, blistering curse, more an eruption of magic than any crafted spell.

"Yes!" a mad yowl: he was apparently readying himself to say something more, accuse Draco of being a traitor aloud, exposing the blonde's 'crimes' to the empty air. Yet something else heard the exchange.

Fenrir's next words were swallowed up by a shout; a yell, of fear and pain. His offense on Draco faltered; and he looked down. The cursed stone of Hogwarts steadily began to swallow, drawing the were-wolf downwards, lower. His wild, savage, feral eyes darted around, at last focusing on Draco: a howl as he flung one more curse, a madly shining green killing curse as his torso was taken and crushed by the stone.

His life ended in a scream of agony; killed by the stone mistakenly defending what it believed to be a Death Eater. The blonde's brand had touched it, and upon hearing Fenrir's intent to harm, the castle could take but one approach.

Malfoy fell to his knees, narrowly avoiding the killing curse, and collapsing, breathless. That was tiring, and unpleasant. He found himself staring as Fenrir Grey-back's lifeless head was swallowed by the stone, trickles of blood trickling over the cold, damp cobbles.

He shut his eyes, silent for a moment. Well, silent in his head: the roars and shouts of battle continued to rage around him. The battlements shuddered around him as a curse spattered out over the wall.

Just along the castle walls, the Doctor and Amy peered out, looking out; over the small army forcing their way through the gates. The Doctor threw the small sack punch from one hand to the other, juggling.

"Right," he began, smiling, before leaning forwards over the wall and yelling: "You're Mr Thick Thickety Thick face from Thickania!"

Amy blinked, looking at him like he was insane; quiet understandably. The Time Lord took a hasty step back; just as a gust of searing flame rocketed up to the battlements. Chuckling, the Doctor waited a second for the spell to a lessen and, just before it dissipated entirely, he threw the small sack out through it: the burlap ignited, burning away as it fell down to the distant ground. A spark, a bang; and soon thick, almost opaque bursts of a noxious yellow gas started to sprout out from it.

The pale Dark Lord, now approaching Hogwarts, stopped at the gas: while it was a Muggle device, primitive even by their standards, now it had been activated, the effects remained. He slashed his wand sideways, dispelling the yellow gas in a burst of wind, but a foul stench remained in the air, clinging to his robes and the robes of all those Snatchers and Death Eaters around him. Curling his nose, Voldemort retreated; not from fear, but from inconvenience, ego. He left alone, leaving the rest of his followers to attack: though a few of those also departed.

"What was that?" Amy blinked looking down over the rising remnants of the gas.

"Oh, nothing much," the Doctor clapped his hands, grinning; "Perfectly harmless, just with a flash and a bang. And gives off a bit of a pong."

There was a pause; the redhead stared.

"Did you just throw a stink bomb at Lord Voldemort?" Amy spoke hurriedly, dryly

The Doctor just grinned.


	14. Man's Greatest Treasure

**I can't help but think that the story's going downhill...  
>Anyway, I hope you still enjoy, we're obviously getting very close to the end, but there's still a twist or two to come. <strong>

"Doctor!" Draco called the Time Lord from across the battlements. The man looked up; turned sideways, blinking as he saw the blonde. "Doctor! You seem to know a lot about this-"

"'What's going on?', 'What should I do?', those your questions?" the Doctor span around to face the Slytherin, grinning. "Usually something like that. You know, your timing's perfect."

Malfoy blinked, totally forgetting what he was planning to say. The Doctor had that effect on people.

"You've got a broom right? Well, yes, I know you have, and you're meant to be a pretty decent flyer." He clapped his hands, still grinning, evidently enjoying the thought. Voice slightly more hushed, he finished the sentence, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging below him: "Can I have a lift?"

It was then that the blonde managed to regain his senses, become able to put the Doctor's words into context.

"I will not stop defending Hogwarts to play Knight Bus-"

"Oh, you won't be wasting any time," the Doctor was grinning again; "Nabbed a crystal ball earlier, if I can plug it into the TARDIS she should be able to navigate the corrupted timelines a bit better. Technically Hybrid Technology, but there's really no other choice: and we are going to need her pretty soon. She can bring you back before you left."

Malfoy hesitated, still uncertain as to what the Doctor was saying. He wanted a broom ride to a 'TARDIS', whatever that was, presumably some kind of vehicle which the crystal ball would let him pilot… A blink.

"Oh, it's not as silly as it sounds," the Doctor shrugged, hand digging into his pocket and removing a crystal ball which seemed too big to fit in there, "This'll see any disturbances before they happen, and plot a course around them. You can have it back, once we've finished with it, I wouldn't trust myself with any kind of Hybrid tech."

Minutes later, the Doctor sat on a broomstick behind Draco, grinning wildly as they shot out over the raging battle, narrowly avoiding several curses as the Doctor lead the way to where the police box was parked. Amy watched them leave, before turning around on the spot and, in an instant, seeing a familiar blue shape appear.

O

Neville reached the door to the room of Requirement, breathless. Tentative, he tapped his hand on the wall, watching as the door slowly appeared; yet he waited a few more seconds, murmuring "_Finite Incantatem_," at the door, remembering what had happened to Seamus: he'd been crushed by the cursed stone when attempting to enter the Room.

Once he was satisfied that the real Room of Requirement lurked beyond the entryway, the student stepped inside, shutting the door quickly. There; the outside battle couldn't reach in there now.

It was tempting to take a moment to breathe in, to relax: this was possibly the only sanctuary in the entire castle. Anywhere else, he was at risk of an attack of some kind from the Death Eaters or an accidental curse from a student or teacher.

However, Longbottom decided against that; this was still tied to the battle outside. A Horcrux, the diadem, was in here: according to Luna, at least. He needed to find it and destroy it, as soon as possible. Then there was just the snake and sword to go.

While there was no way that he knew of to break the goblin-made sword, that didn't mean it was time to give up.

After barely a second's rest, Neville Longbottom strode forwards, into the Room, neck turning, head tilting as he looked around, surveying the immense chamber for just one thing.

It was impressive, to say the least. Huge, towering spires of what could only be described as stuff. Any number of things, not all of which having a name. There was what seemed to be a huge bronze head, perhaps belonging to some statue, and it was covered in piles upon piles of other assorted junk: a candelabra, and several cabinets surrounded it, with a mattress and apparently a giant pumpkin above it. Frowning, Neville turned away from there; didn't look like the diadem would be stored with such things.

A little further on, a Mona Lisa rested against a huge, empty bookshelf. A graffiti covered bust of some ancient wizard rested on one of the shelves, just next to a set of wigs and false beards. Frowning, this too was passed.

It was when Neville came across a pile of books the size of a small house that he finally began to give up. He was scarcely half way across the Room, and had only taken one, thin path to get here: it was possible that he'd missed it already, or that it was somewhere else in the chamber. It had taken nearly half an hour just to get this far.

Sighing, he sat on a nearby stool; it beeped gently, and shrank to the size of a thimble. Neville fell to the floor. Momentarily irritated, he picked it up between two fingers and threw it, sending it skittering down the path. A few metres away, it grew back to the size of a normal stool.

There had to be a better way than just this manual searching. It might take him days at this rate, searching through this whole hall. And he didn't even know what else lurked in here; there was the stool, it had caught him by surprise when it shrunk. What if there was more in here?

A scuttling came from his left; turning, he saw a hand-sized insect, almost a spider despite having only six legs, scramble from one pile of items to another. It took him a moment to notice that the insect had moved only on air, some ten centimetres above the ground.

So, there was life in the Room, especially this section it seemed. All the bacteria hiding in the books and other things, any insects that snuck in or concealed themselves away in chests or bottles… How much had come in over the centuries? They'd been changing too, it seemed; evolving, in a way, changes brought on by the constant, near-dangerous level of magic. Perhaps some were corrupted by the Horcrux.

It was a somewhat chilling thought: even if most were bugs and the like, tiny little things he'd barely notice, there could be whole essentially civilizations dwelling in there. With him. Magically altered, mutated. Victims of magical radiation.

Hesitant, Neville stood. Might as well begin to search again, if there was any hope of finding it like this. What else was there to do?

"_Accio Horcrux_," he mumbled, half-heartedly; as expected, nothing came to the summoning charm. Well, it was worth a try. And if he couldn't summon the Horcrux, then there was nothing else to do: save for keep searching.

One step later, he froze. No. It couldn't be that easy, could it? While he couldn't summon the diadem itself, there was nothing stopping him summoning other things: and presumably the diadem hadn't just been casually thrown onto the ground; presumably it rested atop something. Presumably…

"_Accio_," Neville murmured again, unsure of exactly how to phrase the noun, but focusing on the concept. Voldemort probably hadn't lugged a bust of Rowena Ravenclaw in, but if he was going to put it somewhere, perhaps it was on something already inside…

A stone effigy whirled across the Room of Requirement, from several blocks away, hurtling across and smashing several cabinets, wardrobes, any number of the items concealed. It skittered to a halt beside Neville, and shattered on the stone floor.

Wincing at the accidental destruction, Neville began to walk: now he knew roughly where the diadem was. He simply had to follow the wreckage: it shouldn't be that far. Sighing, the Gryffindor trekked around a towering pile of bits and pieces, moving across until he found a path which wasn't littered with more objects. So, the statue must have come from back a row.

Turning around and moving as mall way, he began to walk down the junk-strewn path, towards a fallen cabinet. Still a fair distance away, the boy froze: there was a huge, ornate wardrobe, shaking just to the side. Loudly: the whole metres-high box rattled, as if there was a whole swarm of creatures inside it, trying to escape. Had the noise of the statue woken them up? Were they more of the beings which had found their way into the Room, over the years?

Hesitant, Neville Longbottom took a step closer-

And Professor Severus Snape stepped out from behind the wooden wardrobe, sneering; lip curled as he looked down at the Gryffindor.

Neville froze, hand immediately going for his wand; thoughts whirling. What was Snape doing here? And how? And…was he really that tall?

"Longbottom," Snape spoke with a sneer, pale hand gripping his wand tightly. You-"

The Professor froze for a moment; Neville had stepped back, prepared to curse, hex, whatever he needed to do to get past Snape to the Horcrux. However, the distance seemed to make the teacher hesitate, and then Severus seemed to shudder, black robes and pale skin rippling.

In an instant, Lord Voldemort stood there. Neville was instantly on guard, lifting his wand even further; but frowning as the Dark Lord turned away, turning his unprotected back towards Neville.

What…

"You have disappointed me," the cold, cruel voice came from the wizard's mouth, as he faced an unknown person, around a corner of the junk.

Someone else was in the room? Had they followed the source of the statue also? Apparently so, but… what was Voldemort doing here, why was he chastising this person, what was…

Neville took a step closer: long, black, greasy hair sprouted from the dark wizard's head. The Gryffindor blinked for a moment.

"_Riddikulus!_" a woman's voice came from beyond the odd sight: and the strange blending of wizards rippled for a moment, before literally turning to run, stumbling over its robe as it did so.

A Boggart! Of course, it had to be: must have been locked in the room, dormant, asleep or hibernating, for years. Woken up by the statue, it had… but who else was here?

That question also was answered, as Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into view, between Neville and the Horcrux, wand tightly gripped in her hand and eyes glaring. She started to smile, teeth bared, as she saw who she was facing.

"Longbottom," a semi-mad cackle. The Gryffindor lifted his wand, on guard, eyes darting between the witch and a toppled pile of things; a softly shining tiara was visible on the ground, just behind her. "I once had the honour of meeting your parents," Bellatrix stepped forwards; body tensed, as if about to pounce, her wand held a fair distance from her body, yet gripped sharply: pointed at Neville.

"_Protego!_" Neville drew a hasty shield in the air; watching Bellatrix push her wand forwards, jabbing. He didn't hear the incantation, yet could guess the spell as it whirled forwards; the student focused on the shield, noticing how the witch's wand seemed to illuminate, and how cracks of black electricity seemed to prosper within the light.

Hybrid technology; her wand was full of it this time, fully activated. He didn't want to know how powerful her spells could be: by herself, she had already prodigious talents. The curse crossed the distance to his shield in a split second, and contacted the protection. A momentary shimmer; the spell seemed to spread out by about a centimetre, edges fading: and the shield shattered into almost visible specks of light.

The curse struck Neville; he stumbled back a step, screaming in agony, pain beyond anything he'd ever felt, more powerful even than the last Cruciatus curse he'd had cast upon him.

"You scream like your father," Bellatrix seemed almost gleeful as she pulled back her wand-arm, again thrusting it forwards.

Neville realized he was laying sprawled on the floor. Blinking, he muttered a small charm and lifted himself a metre or so in the air, avoiding the curse; and landed on his feet, ducking beneath another.

He didn't trust himself casting shield charms now. Her hybrid curses wrecked any defences he could put up. In a last hope though, he cried out "_Protego Totalum!_" Hoping that it would prove stronger: if it was, it wasn't noticeable. He still leapt out of the way.

"_Reducto!_" he yelled as he ran sideways, reducing a large wooden mass towards the bottom of a pile to dust: and he leapt into the space occupied by it, turning over and whispering a shield charm as he did so.

Now he was concealed below a mound of junk and lost, discarded things. Darkness. He knew Bellatrix was still out there, but he couldn't think of a single way to survive. So he hid, thinking. He should have a little time as she paced around outside, tormenting, before she shattered the fallen masses around him.

Think, think. In one hand he held his wand; in the other, the basilisk fang. The diadem lay on the floor out there; he'd seen it, but couldn't reach it without being seen by Bellatrix: and she knew about the Horcrux, she'd try to protect it.

He thought quickly. It wouldn't be long until the things over him were destroyed: this duel wouldn't last long, he was relying on evading her spells, he couldn't block them any other way. And that wouldn't last much longer.

"_Reducto!_" he heard her sudden cry. Well, that wasn't good; he felt the objects around him shudder, and turn to dust in pretty much an instant.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" he whispered, wand held to his side and pointing at himself: he channelled all the energy he could into the spell, and felt himself rocket up several metres in the air. A burst of green light shot past him, dangerously close.

A glance down; there she was! Neville winced, gripping his wand tightly as he cut the spell; he fell quickly, murmuring another spell, cancelling his momentum centimetres from the ground, still just about managing to evade the spells.

He looked at Bellatrix: for an instant, he took in his surroundings. Wreckage, rubble of concealed items littered the ground around them. Bellatrix stood opposite, tangled hair flying madly, eyes wide, arm positioned and ready to fling another lethal, unnaturally powerful curse forwards. In her other hand, she held the Horcrux, having picked it from the floor, guarding it from Neville.

"_Accio_," Neville shouted, before the Death Eater could manage a spell of her own; he pointed his wand at her, not the Horcrux, summoning the witch herself, unsteadily, towards him.

Several things happened in the next few seconds. Bellatrix's rapid progress along the floor made her momentarily unsteady, not quite able to cast a spell; and she released the Horcrux, though not by choice. The diadem refused to be affected by the summoning curse, and remained where it was; soon falling to the floor. Neville ran forwards, passing the witch, twisting his body and falling to the floor.

He fell to his knees, grabbed the diadem and turned, just in time to see a burst of green light, crackling with electrical energy heading straight for him. He lifted the Horcrux, pushing it into the light; Neville shrank back, shuffling a few centimetres further from the sudden curse.

There was a blinding burst of light where the diadem met the hybrid killing curse. A pale grey tinged with veins of black, a screaming face straining to get out of those streams of sable, the spell easily ripping through the tiara. Hybrid technology: too powerful. The ashen remains of the Horcrux fell to the stone floor: but not before Neville thrust his left arm forwards, wand hand swapped, to yell: "_Stupefy!_"

It was too quick for Bellatrix to react. She'd used up so much energy in that unavoidable curse, covered her eyes in response to the light, and begun a yell of rage when the stunning hex hit her. She fell, unmoving, back to the floor.

Stumbling, Neville moved forwards, closer to the witch. He looked down; she glared up at the world, even in unconsciousness. The student winced.

Slowly, the Gryffindor found the Basilisk fang from where he'd dropped it, before walking back to the witch. He pointed his wand down at her, staring, knuckles white. He knew what he wanted to do, and he knew what he was fully capable of doing. But his lips couldn't quite form the words, mouth couldn't quite say them.

"_Avada-_" he hesitated, unreasonably struggling. Why was this so hard? It was Bellatrix, after all: Bellatrix Lestrange. She'd tortured his parents to insanity, worse than killed them. Killed their minds at least.

It should be easier to return the favour.

Yet after almost a minute's internal raging debate, he was unable to do anything except lower his wand. It felt somehow wrong to kill, even kill someone like Bellatrix.

"I'm better than you," he spoke clearly, as much to the stunned Death Eater as himself, before he turned to leave the Room.

Two Horcruxes left. Snake and sword.


	15. Hybrid

**Well, personally I think this chapter's a lot better than the last one. I hope you enjoy too! I love writing the Doctor Who side of things more than anything. Um, enjoy the quicker update!**

Amy and the Doctor were in the TARDIS, the latter busying himself around the console as the redhead sat by the side, shivering at the flashes of Bellatrix's mind she kept getting. The witch had been defeated by Neville, yet lived; and once she recovered, she'd gone out to meet Voldemort, apologize for failing in her mission to defend the Horcrux. Amy had done her best to block out the memory of the punishment.

"So, you think you can fly this thing now?" Amy looked up, audibly sceptical, as the Doctor twirled a spiky implement on the console.

"I can always fly her!" he patted the TARDIS, Amy rolled her eyes; "Just not too well here. Time was too dodgy, but with a crystal ball plugged in," he stomped once on the glass floor; below, the orb gave off a soft golden aura, held between two metal clasps. "She can predict the disturbances, and find her way around them. She's clever like that. So, where should we go?" he span around to Amy, meeting her eyes.

The redhead instinctively tensed at the intensity of his gaze. He was desperate, visibly so: ever since learning the Daleks, or at least one Dalek, was involved, he'd done absolutely everything he could. And still it wasn't enough: yet the Doctor was contemplating murder, even aiding it, even if the victim was to be Voldemort.

The wizard was scarcely alive: that was the excuse he used. But that was all it was: an excuse, brought on by sheer desperation. However, it did not matter. He'd thrown away his rules, as he found himself doing so often when his friends were targeted.

Amy knew the answer that the Time Lord wanted. There was but one more Horcrux to find, and only she could find it; the Sword of Gryffindor, normally indestructible, but if there was any way to destroy it and destroy the Horcrux it contained, then they'd at least need to possess it.

The redhead didn't close her eyes, she didn't need to. Her mind just found itself wandering, almost imperceptibly: and it scanned through memories which were not hers. She didn't find the ones she wanted, not at first. She glimpsed the screams of Neville's parents, and saw the witch's journeys into the past: she hadn't yet forced the second Angel back to Hogwarts. Bellatrix's mind, nauseatingly close to her own.

And then she saw it; a flicker of a deep red ruby, upon the hilt of a shining silver sword. The ruby however seemed tainted, flecked with black. She knew as soon as she saw it that it was a Horcrux. Shuddering at the savage joy the thoughts evoked, she withdrew; but not before 'remembering' the surroundings. A tumbled cottage, desolate, neglected.

"The Riddle House," she murmured, eyes refocusing to look up at the Doctor. "The Horcrux is there. Let me get it."

"You're sure?" the Doctor stepped back slowly; voice somewhat mild. He already knew what her response would be, knew of her oh-so human instinct for revenge, augmented by the presence of Bellatrix. But he needed her to know that she still had a choice.

"Always," she stood, poise firm, moving towards the TARDIS doors.

The familiar groaning, wheezing of the engines: and the time machine landed. Unhesitatingly, Amy stepped outside, into oddly unexpected daylight, looking around. Bare trees, ashes, ruins. The place had been destroyed: save for a strangely ordinary house a small distance away. The Riddle House, it had to be.

"Amy!" the Doctor called after her, warning, as she began to tread her way forwards. "Use this," he threw a small, grey cylinder topped by a red button; "It's a beacon. When you've got the sword, I can pick you up if you press it. Wish I could help, but there's something else I have to do."

The redhead nodded. If she said anything, it was lost as she turned away. The TARDIS doors slowly shut behind her. The Time Lord stared, melancholy, at the door for a second or two; all the time for mourning he could allow himself. Even if it was only temporary, she'd left him again.

Then the Doctor span around, to the console, slapping a few switches and swinging the screen around, staring at it: it showed a 2D map of the Earth's atmosphere, with a cross-section of the planet on the bottom half. A flashing red light illuminated a small spot, just above the world, to the right.

He was right; there was a Dalek ship up there. Presumably on auto-pilot: the Daleks wouldn't waste that many Daleks, even drones, when just one could do. More might be coming later, but it was strange enough that they'd sent one to steal knowledge to human magic, especially by aiding Voldemort. Whatever the reasoning, the scientist Dalek at its helm was on Earth, presumably with the Dark Lord even now.

So the ship was unguarded; and that was just where the police box had now materialized.

Still, just to be sure, the Doctor did a quick scan of his surroundings. A few odd readings, but no life that he could see. Good, he hoped.

Hesitantly, he stepped outside of the blue box, turning his head, taking in all the surroundings. Not often he was (willingly) aboard one of these, and even less often that he had a chance for what could amount to sightseeing.

It was a smaller craft than their normal saucers, he could see that immediately. Guessing from the size of the ship on the scanners, and the size of this chamber, there were just two rooms. No lights either; apparently they'd been decided as uneconomical for this specific journey.

The Doctor returned into the TARDIS. A few seconds later, he exited it once more, now holding a small torch, clicking it on and casting a small beam around the domed chamber.

It was hard to see anything, the small light from the torch containing all that could really be made out. Slowly, the Doctor moved forwards, swinging his hand around to see as much detail as he could.

The floor was pale, a pearly white, seemingly made from one sheet of metal. An impressive design to be sure, giving an impression of strength, solidarity. Another chamber was below, according to the scanners, yet it was hard to imagine.

Moving slowly forwards, the Doctor stopped; a structure, some kind of machine had come slowly into view. It was about as high as his shoulders, shaped like half an ellipse, rimmed with rubber and metal, a small, transparent sphere set in the centre of it. Red lightning, like plasma, shimmered softly in the centre of that orb, yet it gave off no light, visible only in the torchlight. Hesitantly, the Doctor examined every pore of it, every crack, every little detail: he ran the light over the machine, trying to determine its function, its purpose.

Once he was satisfied it wouldn't be harmful, slowly, the Time Lord moved on. Just behind it, before the curved wall of the ship, there was a circular metal pad on the floor; a transmat. The machine seemed to be some kind of control system: just as well he hadn't fiddled with it, he really didn't want to bring the Dalek back up here.

The Time Lord turned. There was nothing there, well, nothing of interest, so time to explore elsewhere. Cautious, he followed the circling wall, around to the other side of the TARDIS, ignoring inconsequential details: echoes, beginnings of complex creations… Only the Scientist Dalek knew what they were for, and it wasn't there.

The far end of the chamber lay a hole in the floor, fairly big, circular, nestled by the edge of the ship. It was the right size for a Dalek to ascend or descend through; perhaps not the most elegant means of travel, but definitely practical.

Peering down through the hole with a torch, the Doctor froze. He fell onto his knees, and leant forwards, his torso going through the gap in order to better look around; his arm went through entirely, moving the torch and pointing it around, searching. It was scarcely necessary, much of the chamber had already been illuminated by an eerie red glow.

In the centre of the room, the item of the Doctor's attention, was the source of the light; a crystal ball, much like the one in his own TARDIS, only this one had been merged almost entirely with machine. A true example of hybrid technology: it was atop a dark mount, a trapezoid construction with a hemisphere embedded one side, just below a glass display screen which covered one side of the orb. Wires travelled into the crystal ball, through drilled holes, and somehow caused the emanations of crimson.

Occasionally, a ghost of an image flickered within it. A strange variety. One showed an army of red Daleks, backed by some blue, descend on a metropolis, firing with eerie accuracy. Another showed what seemed to be an older Harry stride through deserted streets. Another showed a world that the Doctor recognized with a chill: the corrupted timeline he'd rescued Amy from, where Voldemort essentially ruled the Earth.

He squinted to make out the screen; it showed a progress bar, one eerily close to being full. It seemed to be extracting calculations of some kind from the crystal ball: and knowing the Daleks, it couldn't be anything good.

Pulling back from the hole, the Doctor stood up, casting the flashlight over the chamber he was in, looking at the beginnings of machines. There was one…there! He ran over to it, untangling a lengthy cable, and tied it around the transmat controls, before dragging it over and, using it as a rope, leaping into the harshly illuminated room below.

He landed slowly, knees bent, before looking up, pocketing the torch. The hybrid crystal ball continued to shine eerily, giving off the same, constant ruby glow, occasional horrific image flickering within it. Earth cracking into three flaming segments, a large moon being flung into a distant unknown world, a Dalek emerging from a burning star. The Doctor blinked, shaking his head and shivering at the sights; they seemed all too realistic, as if they'd already happened.

Tentative, he moved closed until he was barely a metre away, tilting his head as he peered at the orb, examining it.

Instantly, his eyes were assaulted with a barrage of sudden, nightmarish images, all seeming to be projected straight into his mind and all seeming to be real; each eliciting a hated leap in the dark recesses of his mind.

Every surviving Dalek dissolving to dust as he, the Doctor, stared up at the starless sky, eyes aglow with impossible power. Gallifrey rising from a shattered time lock, to rule the rest of the cosmos, the Doctor at its helm. The dreaded Time Lord Victorious rising to take control of every aspect of history-

The Doctor looked away hastily, shutting his eyes tight. The crystal orb wasn't focused on him, so the flashes it gave him were brief, incomplete: yet it was enough to divine its purpose.

It predicted the future: no, more than that. It _programmed_ the future. It found the future which the user desired, or at least the closest approximation: and then, judging by the echoes of memories in his head, told the method to gain that future. Complete accuracy; its potential for harm staggered the Doctor. It could be used by literally anyone, from the Supreme Dalek to the merest human, to take control of the universe. Simply input the wanted future, and learn how to achieve it; the hybrid technology combined divination with computerized logic.

It wouldn't make any mistakes; it couldn't. That was why the magic of the crystal ball was required, once it found the future, it prophesized with complete accuracy and so long as the needed steps were fulfilled, then that future would take place. If the Daleks had used it, he didn't stand a chance.

Nervous, the Doctor opened his eyes a fraction. He did his best not to gaze into the hybrid crystal ball; the possible futures it had shown him, the fantasies, they were all of typical Dalek origin. Dreams of domination, of subjugation: yet they struck a chord inside him, made him come too close to revelling in death, destruction. That was how it worked, no matter how much the conscious mind rebelled against the notion, it appealed to the primitive centres of the mind, planted the seeds of the desire, the need for conquest.

Being sure to keep his gaze away from the pervasive red, the Time Lord examined the small screen just below it; a progress bar. 83%. It seemed to be signalling some kind of download, some kind of reading from the orb.

Frowning, the Doctor withdrew his screwdriver, twirling it in his hand once before pointing it at the screen, buzzing it once, the soft green light almost extinguished by the crimson.

New pictures appeared in the crystal ball; the Doctor looked up at them, keeping his neck tense, ready to look away in case those terribly seductive visions of death reappeared. He knew how much he disliked death, how much he was opposed to it: yet everything the orb showed came straight from his mind, the areas he'd hidden away, suppressed. Everyone had them, but they were always controlled. Almost always; but an appeal to them threatened to bypass any morality he rigorously enforced. A siren call to murder.

Shuddering away from that trail of thought, the Time Lord focused on the ghostly images: and almost immediately wished he'd continued to contemplate his own call to murder.

_The Daleks ruled space. It was immediately evident: their gold crafts seemed to appear from the void, and rain down light, before trails of red surrounded them, like a swarm of insects, moving straight for the nearest world. A world that turned black as ash in an instant. _

_Any other ships in the gap between worlds soon died. There was no other way to put it: one moment they were there, flying or drifting, alive, perhaps even prosperous. Then the Daleks arrived, predicting and evading every shot in an instant. And firing strikes of their own in retaliation, huge sweeping blows of white that blasted through any shields that were raised. In a second from the Doctor's seemingly sped-up perspective, the Daleks were easily the victors. _

_On worlds, those fearful shapes descended. People ran and hid; the Daleks located and exterminated. Some fought: soldiers, military; yet any defence organizations were the first to fall. On a rare occasion, someone was able to get one shot in, whether a bullet or light. Bullets evaporated before they even came close; laser weapons dissipated, no more harmful than a bulb. _

_No Daleks were harmed as every world was crushed. The whole universe was their sanctuary, and they used the resources of every planet, every star, every asteroid, every mass to construct a huge…thing. An abomination: some kind of crude paradox machine. So massive, it was composed of everything in the universe. _

_The only resistance to the Daleks now came from the distant past: prodigious civilizations who discovered time travel so early on, and journeyed to the future only to see the end of worlds. _

_It was these who the Daleks responded to, somewhat disproportionately. Defended by the single greatest undertaking in perhaps any universe, that titanic paradox machine, they journeyed back in time, so far back: to the Big Bang. And stopped it. _

_Existing only because of that immense creation, preserving a paradox on a universal scale, the Daleks reigned supreme. They had their greatest wish: there was no non-Dalek life. There never had been any non-Dalek life. _

_There was only the Dalek race. Forever and ever, from here to the furthest non-existent star. _

_Exterminate_.

The Doctor pulled back from the crystal ball, appalled. Utterly appalled.

They would only ever be able to achieve that with a paradox machine on that scale: any other attempt would erase themselves from existence also. Yet even the thought of the Daleks attempting such a thing was chilling.

They'd never get the materials for such a paradox machine. He comforted himself with those thoughts: initially. Then he remembered. Hybrid technology, a means to an end. As soon as that progress bar (84%) was completed, the Daleks would have the knowledge to achieve that future. It contained all the information needed to do so.

It was a truly staggering thought: he stood less than a metre away from the machine, a deceptively tiny thing, which could erase everything.

The Time Lord stepped back, turned his head, looking around the dimly illuminated, red chamber. Away from the orb: while there were no doubt minutes, if not hours, before the download was complete, he felt the need to stop it soon.

Not trusting himself to touch the hybrid crystal ball, he looked around it; eyes catching on a work-station behind it. The Scientist Dalek had to pilot the ship from there, it seemed the only place: quickly, the Doctor ran across to it, buzzing the sonic screwdriver up and over the panel, activating a holographic screen in the air.

Casting a quick look back at the progress bar attached to the orb, the Doctor looked back at the controls. He still had a little time, a few minutes.

He'd always wanted to control a Dalek ship, if only for a few seconds. The technology was quite impressive, if only they didn't keep trying to kill him. Well, for now…

Smirking, he buzzed the sonic over the panel, until slowly Hogwarts came into focus on the screen, the battle still raging.


	16. Call to War

**Hello! I've managed the last few updates quite quickly due to less hassle in real life, but that's likely to pick up again soon. Hopefully there should be an update up by next weekend however.  
>It's a lot easier to write now, especially this close to the end. Still several chapters to go, but they're all very tied together. Except for a couple, but anyway...<br>Enjoy! I like being dramatic. **

Now Lord Voldemort took part in the charge on the castle. Recovering from the Doctor's brief distraction, he flew several metres above the ground, a little was above his own followers, guarded by a hybrid Protego, easily more powerful than any spells which the defenders of Hogwarts could throw at him.

One of the charmed statues leapt at the pale wizard; he twitched his wand, batting it aside, turning it to dust: and then animating that dust. A tiny sandstorm whirled around the castle, maybe no more than a distraction: but it was a fatal one. Kingsley Shackle-bolt was distracted for an instant, conjuring up a gust of wind to blow away the dust, dispersing it beyond Voldemort's means of animation and sparing the students around him from it; but in the instant he called the wind, he was no longer able to shield. A green flash of light whirled from one of the many dark wizards, knocking him backwards.

Dementors descended on the once proud school, from the deep black of the night sky and seemingly swallowing all light. The tattered black robes blotted out the stars, the moonlight.

"Expecto Patronum!" McGonagall cried out, sending her small, lithe cat Patronus bounding from stone to stone. The only real source of light; while several of the black wraiths were forced to turn away, it was still just one against so, so many Dementors.

Few could cast a Patronus: it was an immensely complex charm, beyond that generally taught to students, though a few had taken advanced clubs. Much of the DA knew the spell, as did several teachers: but the DA had been slaughtered by the cursed castle stone, and many of the teachers were struggling to hold of the human threat alone, to say nothing of giants and other beasts.

There were oddly few non-humans in the Dark Lord's army however; perhaps his new 'hybrid technology' had given him more confidence, made him less willing to work with the 'impure'.

It seemed he would not work without the Dementors however; or perhaps the reapers simply refused to leave behind such a source, such a fount of victims. A few other points of light burst out from the darkness, a few weaker Patronuses, the few capable of casting it doing what they could.

It wasn't going to be enough, she saw that. They needed more people, more professionals capable of casting that spell. Not just advanced students who had yet to master it: almost all the lights she saw were of shields alone, with several being no more than wisps which scarcely distracted the Dementors. One corporeal spell joined her own feline, running in hasty circles around the castle, occasionally repelling Dementors; yet in the time it took them to complete the lap once more, several had managed to sneak inside.

Though they were repelled shortly, the cries of their victims, of unutterable despair, still reached her ears.

The two corporeal Patronuses split apart, running the same track but remaining perpetually at opposite sides of the loop, emanating white, shining light. It kept many Dementors out, but still nowhere near enough. At the weakest points of the circle, those at a ninety degree angle to the two spells, whole hordes of the vile creatures broke through, rotating with the animals of light, bringing despair to the brave defenders.

Minerva stopped her spell-blazing, watching the white feline continue its laps. She pointed her wand back at her throat, watching several Patronus-shields fade away. "If you can cast a Patronus, retreat to the castle! Everyone, if you can cast a Patronus, return to the castle!"

A few more wisps of light faded away; but the corporeal, leaping Patronuses stayed present, stayed bright; hers and that unknown student's. Seconds later, several of the lost shields were re-raised, protecting swathes of the battleground, the once-school, from the hungry Dementors.

"Professor!" a boy's voice called. Minerva turned, momentarily surprised to see the student behind her.

"Michael Corner," she called his name is response, watching the student come closer to her. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, ripped, a painful-looking series of cuts running down his side, visible through the frayed shirt.

"Hey," he nodded, breathless, wand outstretched. "Know anyone else who can cast a Patronus? I learnt with everyone else in the DA, but I haven't seen any of those in the battle."

McGonagall hesitated before responding; glancing out to the circling creatures for a moment. Michael's Patronus; impressive. He must be one of the last survivors of the DA. No wonder only he had cast it, teachers were rarely tested on such a spell, deemed unnecessary at this level of education. Still, a few were no doubt capable of casting shields, like Lupin.

As she watched, another corporeal Patronus rose from the ground beneath them. Well, some may simply have been temporarily unable to cast them, she supposed; watching as the three animals circled the castle, giving of a shining protection.

"Professor?" Michael spoke again. Minerva turned, looking back to him; she'd distracted herself. She didn't want to tell him what happened.

"They're gone," McGonagall murmured, shortly. Then, feeling the boy needed the truth, she continued, quieter. "The stones are cursed; by Voldemort. He's killed all of them. I'm sorry."

For a moment, one of the Patronuses outside seemed to flicker, turning translucent. Michael looked away, silent.

"I thought it was something like that," he whispered. "No one seems safe nowadays."

He lifted his wand again, moving it like the lash of a whip; his Patronus glowed brighter for a moment, like a beacon, continuing to circle, a little faster.

O

Having deposited his broom elsewhere, Draco ran through the castle. The Doctor had his TARDIS back, fine, he could deal with whatever it was he wanted to: Draco currently didn't care about the Horcruxes, the castle was in danger, the students fighting for their lives. He needed to help.

"Avada-" he cut himself, wincing, mentally cursing the scruples he'd adopted since helping the Order and DA. Things were easier as a Death Eater, no moral concerns. Still, nonetheless, he was fighting for this way of life, there had to be something in it: "Stupefy!" the blonde yelled, flinging the curse out through a shattered window, striking a Snatcher far below.

The Slytherin took one more look out the window, freezing for an instant, before turning. A shining, pearlescent Patronus had moved past him, leaping from the empty air and circling the castle. Even with it, he could feel the signs of a Dementor's presence clogging up the room; a clammy touch to the air, a touch of grief in each thought.

They needed more help to fend of the wraiths; the blonde cursed again. He'd never learnt that spell, no Death Eaters seemed to be able to use the spell, and with Dementors as supposed allies, it seemed pointless. He'd skipped those DA lessons anyway, he'd skipped a lot of the DA.

They needed someone else, at least one more person. He knew a possible candidate, if the old fool was willing.

The blonde began to run through the corridors, now with a target in mind. Minutes later, he reached the Room of Requirement, a shield charm almost visible around him, alight with all the spells flung at it.

"Aberforth!" the blonde at last yelled, impatient, bursting through the secret passage from the Room, to the bar: he didn't leave to enter the bar, remaining in the passage to keep the Room open and occupied. "Aberforth, come on!"

"What is it, boy?" the old wizard shuffled into the room, looking considerably less than pleased at the latest intrusion. "Come to stop fighting the inevitable, or trying something foolhardy?"

"Come to Hogwarts," Draco ignored the wizard's remarks. "There are Dementors, you can do a Patronus, it's common knowledge, always charging down the ones outside your pub."

"Foolhardy then," Aberforth rolled his eyes, turning to casually sit down. "I don't want to help you, it'd be like agreeing with you. And I don't agree with you, how many people do you expect are dying?"

"You'd rather agree with the Dark Lord?" Draco winced, intending to use his name yet instinctively failing.

"I'm not agreeing with anyone, least of all the fools up at that castle of yours," Aberforth shrugged, grunting. "By fighting, you're going to get as many killed as he'd kill anyway."

"We're fighting to stop the killing," Draco responded, exasperated at how casual Aberforth was being.

"That makes sense," bitterly sarcastic, the elderly wizard even chuckled.

Malfoy hesitated for a few seconds; initially he'd expected this to be easy, expected anyone to be happy to help. Now it was close to an obsession, trying to get the wizard to finally take part. Keeping within the passage, the blonde rolled his eyes, rolling his wand between two fingers and drawing Aberforth's chair along the floor, towards the passage. The wizard looked up, irate.

"Scared?" Draco was openly mocking now. The wizard didn't respond until he was a metre or so from the Slytherin.

"Watch your tongue, boy," he spoke gruffly; yet still didn't get up. "I duelled with my brother and Grindelwald at the same time, I am full capable of-"

"Then why don't you?"

"Don't they teach you to listen in that school of his?" Dumbledore's brother chuckled cynically.

Malfoy sighed. They needed another Patronus at Hogwarts, Aberforth could help. But he needed to get back to the castle himself, who knew what else was going on? The two courses of action battled in his head, before he decided to do both.

Wordlessly, Draco jerked his wand; twisting the wizard's chair, making him stand up in less than a second and bringing him into arm's reach of the passage. Aberforth had enough time to cast a distinctly annoyed look at the Slytherin; before the blonde reached out and pulled him into the passageway.

Evidently his arguments had mellowed out the gruff barkeeper, somewhat: given Aberforth's apparently advanced duelling skills, the fact Draco wasn't thrown off instantly showed some kind of acceptance. Still, Malfoy wasn't slow or gentle, pulling Aberforth hastily through the passage, occasionally speeding them up with a quick spell.

A minute later, they burst out into Hogwarts; and even Malfoy was taken aback by the sight before them. Many of the bricks had fallen out of the wall, all over the castle, while almost all the rest were scorched, blackened. Powerful magic had been taking place; very powerful, and definitely not friendly.

Aberforth, pushed Draco aside, taking a hasty few steps forwards, staring out the holes in the wall, over the rest of the castle. Flames, rising from the ground, the towers, from almost every window, visible through the shattered walls. Fire lined the battlements, and smoke rose up into the air, a huge plume; all moving into a gargantuan Dark Mark, the huge serpent sliding around the black air, forked tongue flicking.

Far below, the top segment of a tower, ripped away earlier by Voldemort's hybrid magic, lay beyond the walls of the castle, levitated almost casually by the Dark Lord, and covered in snakes formed of flame; slithering over the stonework, scorching it. It did no harm to the valiant defenders far below, save for the damage to morale; debasing a fragment of Hogwarts.

"The Order, you've probably heard of them, the DA, that group Harry formed in your pub, and some of the older students," Draco murmured, appalled himself at the sight; "They're fighting for the castle. Look at it. They're not going to win. I know that, I've known that ever since Harry died, that should've stopped me helping them, should've made me run back to the Death Eaters."

Aberforth stared out silently at the wrecked castle. Unaffected by Draco's admission that he was a once-Death Eater.

"It's because," Draco was speaking as much to himself now, "There are some things worth losing for. Everybody here knows that they might die. Better they than the innocent."

The elderly wizard curled his upper lip for a moment, apparently about to make some cruel comeback; yet at the sight of the smoking, flaming school, all words dried up.

A Dementor suddenly swooped close to them: and one of the Patronus animals darted close, urging it away. McGonagall's cat. Aberforth nodded to himself at that. Whispering the charm inaudibly, he lifted his wand; a luminescent goat leapt out, unsteadily beginning to join the three others in their protective circuit around the castle.

"I'm not saying you're right," Aberforth grunted, turning around. "Just that he's," a thumb jerked to point outside, "even more wrong." Wordless, he jabbed his wand forwards; Malfoy span around to see a Death Eater fall, stunned.

"Thanks," Draco nodded. Aberforth grumbled something unheard in reply, stomping past the blonde. Malfoy's lip curled, amused, for a moment. Then, urgent, he began to run, to sprint, back into the battle.

Peeves whirled over his head, cackling madly as knight helmets fell on Death Eaters and Snatchers, blocking their view or simply adding a new, bizarre accessory. It was the only spirit out there, a poltergeist, enjoying the sheer chaos of it. The rest of the ghosts, even though they could do nothing but distract Death Eaters, still did not take part, sheltering literally within the earth, terrified: they knew what had happened to Rory. Ghosts only became as such by being scared of death, being unwilling to die or having one more thing to live for: the knowledge that they could still be killed, it shook them all.

Four Patronuses whirled around the castle, holding almost all the Dementors at bay now. Another circle of the castle; there was an almost tangible field between them now, white, translucent, shining; the wraiths shied away from it, the four continually moving around, around…

One winked out in an instant; and the immediate pressure of some Dementors was enough to make several valiant defenders falter. To say nothing of Voldemort's chilling proclamation after a split second: "Death Eaters, to me! Those who fight for Dumbledore's memory will now surrender. Anyone who casts a spell from this moment on will be punished."

This time, no one tested the forbidding, remembering the deaths that the ban on movement caused last time. Still, some struggled with that; watching the Death Eaters, the Snatchers, all the dark wizards fall back to group behind Lord Voldemort, there was nothing that the students or the Order wanted more than to fire curse upon curse. The fear of the Dark Lord's preternatural spells however, it was too much.

The confrontation took place in what was once the Great Hall: now no more than a floor scoured clean by the fighting. The Defenders took care to only walk on bricks and stones disconnected from the rest, the rubble of the battle. The curse upon the stones was still active.

Ruined walls rose around them; despite their immense distance away, and the holes that littered them, they made it seem strangely claustrophobic.

Voldemort and Bellatrix stood at the front of the Death Eaters; Voldemort had his arms wrapped around McGonagall, his wand pressed into her throat; and though the witch glared out defiantly, it was clear she was struggling even to breathe. The cold wizard behind her had almost as mile on his face, a grimace of triumph.

The defenders of Hogwarts stood several metres away from the Dark Lord, the Order and the Teachers forming a barrier, keeping many of the students away; at least, keeping them out of the immediate line of fire. Still, Neville Longbottom strode to the front of the group, joining the teachers in the line. Michael Corner was beside him, along with Fred, George, and several other ex- or current students who'd left yet returned to protect the castle.

"Acting Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall," Lord Voldemort's voice wasn't above a hiss; "She told you to fight back; it should be clear to all of you that she made a mistake. A very grave mistake."

Silence; no one was willing to say something, lest they anger the Dark Lord. In many ways, McGonagall was the leader of the defenders; not least because she took Dumbledore's place as Head, in Snape's wake.

For that matter, Snape himself stood on Voldemort's side, an odd, implacable expression on his face.

"Yet Lord Voldemort is forgiving," the pale wizard's voice was deceptively kind. "For her life," his wand tip pressed a little more into Minerva's throat, "Cease this battle. For your life, join me. It should be simple."

"Let her go," surprisingly, it was Michael Corner who spoke up; and to his side, Neville raised his wand, carefully pointing it at Voldemort. The Dark Lord didn't seem angry in the slightest; he even chuckled.

"You cannot cast spells. Feel free to try, should you wish. Any attempt to cast magic will result only in your death; you may not harm anyone with your crude spells."

"Neither can you," Neville replied simply, shrugging, wand still pointed at the wizard's pale face; "Not with whatever you've put up, we saw it last time, you can't control who those spells affect."

Wordless, the Gryffindor took a step forwards, feeling a momentary thrill of fear as he moved towards the Death Eaters, wand still pointed. None dared cast magic to stop him; one more step, taking care to keep off the cursed stone of the hall's floor. Soon, he was over half way between the two sides, wand still pointed.

A flicker of irritation crossed the Dark Lord's face. He knew about the weakness, of course, and knew it was possible one of the defenders would figure it out. He simply hadn't relied on it being a stubborn Gryffindor. For a moment, he focused; tip of his wand sparking a blue/black, taking in the forbidding of magic-

In his arms, he was suddenly no longer holding a witch. Feeling the rush of magic, Minerva had transformed herself into her cat-like state, turning as she transformed and dragging one claw down Voldemort's face. She landed on her feet, soon turning to bound lithely back towards the students.

The battle broke out again, for an instant; the Death Eaters all flinging curses, a furious Voldemort aiming and missing at the fleeing feline Animagus, the four thin lines on his face being filled with red. A protect charm had been raised by all the students, all the Order, all the other defenders of Hogwarts: protecting both Neville and McGonagall as they moved away from the horde of Death Eaters.

"Stop!" Lord Voldemort's yell ended the brief engagement, his scowl making several defenders shiver.

In the few seconds of silence that followed, Minerva McGonagall transformed back into a human, looking quite pleased with herself and wiping one hand on her robes, cleaning away the traces of blood. Lord Voldemort glared, a bear of blood dripping from the thin, shallow claw-mark.

Irritated, the Dark Lord surveyed the defenders, looking up to the remnants of the once-proud Hogwarts also. His lip curled, in anger, in annoyance; but also in pride. A rattling exhalation.

"I ask again," he placed undue emphasis on the last word: yet beyond that, his voice was chillingly level, "Now is the time to declare yourself. Come forwards, join us," an infinitesimal pause, "Or die."

Lord Voldemort still gripped the Elder Wand, enhanced by hybrid technology, in one hand. And he watched the defenders of Hogwarts; despite their short victory with McGonagall, there were now once more signs of unrest.


	17. True Colours

**So, if you've seen the movie, you might recognize the beginning of this bit. With a few changes, of course. I'm allowed to be dramatic, we're nearing the end! Very near actually, as you can probably tell.  
>Hee, um, anyway, lots of things are coming together, and lots of things are happening quickly. And I'm being evil.<strong>

"Make your choice!" Voldemort cried out once more, wand by his side, eyes wandering over the defenders of Hogwarts. They would join him, or die; such a simple choice. While he had no doubt that many would choose death, some may be wise, some may choose life.

A ripple passed through the Defenders, unsure, uncertain. None were willing to admit sympathy with the Dark Lord's ideals, yet some also found themselves afraid. They wanted to live, so many wanted to live. But none wanted to take the first step.

Lord Voldemort exhaled, long, rattling; disconcertingly loud in the silence. His slit-like eyes moved slowly along the defenders.

Nagini hissed, slithering in slow, small circles, just behind the Voldemort, forked tongue flickering and tiny eyes watching.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were near the front of the massed Death Eaters. They didn't move much, though Lucius looked over the Hogwarts line, stopping when he saw his son. Unable to shout out, he nonetheless gestured, hand curing, calling Draco over.

The blonde saw his father for a moment, and stiffened. His parents were over, with the Dark Lord; not speaking loudly, but still calling him back.

Unwittingly, Draco found himself torn. He knew which side he should be one; yet the ties of blood were surprisingly powerful. As were the ties of cowardice; fear ran in his family, it seemed, and in the end it was a useful trait to have.

It would be easier to join the Death Eaters, especially if hybrid technology was as powerful as was said. And he'd be with his parents; he couldn't quite bring himself to hate them. Not quite.

Malfoy's eyes looked at Lucius and Narcissa, and then at the pale Voldemort; the Dark Lord stood surprisingly at ease, near the centre of gathering. He wasn't afraid, not in the slightest: merely self-assured. Draco couldn't blame him; the prophecy was supposed to say that only Harry could destroy him. Harry was dead.

Then, softly, Draco made his choice. It wasn't a cataclysmic moment, and looking back Draco was a little upset that there hadn't been any dramatics. Still, it was important: to him at least.

Feeling the defenders of Hogwarts ripple around him, he slowly stepped forwards. One step ahead of the front line; such a small distance, yet it couldn't be taken back. Another step. The noise of his footsteps seemed to echo on the cold, cursed stone.

The blonde's eyes moved over the Death Eaters; Snape, to Lucius, to Narcissa, to the wild Bellatrix, to Voldemort himself. His next step was unsteady; he could feel the eyes of Hogwarts on him, silent, judging, betrayed.

"Ah, Draco," Lord Voldemort's voice was a hiss, yet somehow intended to be well-natured. Hesitantly, Draco turned, looking towards the wizard. His arms were wide, in greeting; in invitation.

Tentative, nervous, Malfoy began to continue with his unsteady footsteps, now towards Lord Voldemort. One step, two; and he was closer to the Death Eaters than he was to the defenders. One more step, and he'd passed Voldemort somewhat; turning around to see the Dark Lord.

In a surprising, and awkward, gesture, Voldemort took him in an embrace; unpractised, he could feel the dark wizard's bones press against him. The blonde didn't know what to do with his arms: but he knew what to do with his head. Forced to by the embrace, he faced the defenders of Hogwarts; saw the betrayed look on Neville's face, giving way to a simmering anger. He saw Luna, staring, unreadable as ever. And he winked.

"The snake," he mouthed, "Fang," he took care not to say much, hoping Luna understood. It gave him an odd thrill, mouthing words which could do such harm to Voldemort, while touching the Dark Lord. His proximity to the wizard chilled him; he was being embraced by hands which had killed millions.

All too slowly, he was released, to muster control once more, and hide a stagger as he moved to join his family. His hand stayed close to his wand, fingers caressing the hilt. And his eyes watched the side of Hogwarts, the blend of Order, students, and any other members of the resistance.

Fred and George stood side by side, looking out. They had no inclination to change sides, none of them did now. A few were close to considering it however, seeing the ease at which it happened.

One more stepped out, to cross the gap between the sides. The gap was scarcely metres long, yet each step, whether watching or crossing, seemed to take an age. Gaudy, purple shoes took one step. Then another.

"Ah," a soft breath from Voldemort, "And what do they call you?"

"Luna," the pale blonde murmured dreamily, "Mr Voldemort sir." Her hands were clasped behind her back, her eyes oddly observant, keened, behind pale pinkish, lens-less, spectacles.

"Well," an odd smile twisted Voldemort's lips, "I had hoped for-"

Whatever it was he was going to say was lost. In the next second, so much happened. Uncaring that he was surrounded by Death Eater, Draco unsheathed his wand and threw a stunning curse straight at Lord Voldemort: the first to react was Nagini, leaping into the air with surprising agility. The serpent hissed, fangs bared, straight towards Draco; Voldemort was distracted for that instant also, turning, an expression of revulsion on his face (unable to see through Draco's Occlumency), raising a quick shield to deflect the stunning charm.

The Dark Lord was too distracted to see Luna move forwards in one more, hasty, step; removing the Basilisk fang from behind her, gripped tightly in one hand and being brought down-

Nagini's fangs brushed Draco's lower arm, just past his wand, piercing the skin, envenomed teeth drawing blood. And an instant after that had been achieved, Basilisk venom began to course through its system, burning, eradicating all traces of the Horcrux, all traces of life; Luna released the stolen fang, whipping her wand out with her other hand and hastily raising a shield.

Swapping his wand to the other hand, wincing at the pang from the bite-mark, Draco also raised a shield, turning to face the Death Eaters, now openly their foe. He felt the skin around the bite mark begin to toughen, to crinkle, pull apart: had he looked down, he would have seen it began to blacken. As it was, he couldn't twitch so much as a finger on that hand, even so soon after infection.

The Death Eaters let out a barrage of magic in response: Bellatrix's and Voldemort's hybrid wands joining the assault. In response to that, every single defender of Hogwarts raised a shield charm around Draco and Luna, as they retreated to McGonagall's side.

Nagini gave one last, violent, jerk on the ground; and dissolved to less than dust.

One Horcrux left.

With a yowl of rage, Lord Voldemort threw a staggeringly powerful hex at the shield, furious at the turncoats. The backlash staggered Malfoy; yet he continually added his strength to the shield. He still felt it begin to buckle beneath the force of those hybrid blows-

A Dementor swooped down, attracted by the raging emotions-

A silver doe leapt into the air, butting it aside; and turning. If it had perceivable eyes, it would be glaring at Lord Voldemort; it leapt forwards, doing no harm to the Dark Lord, yet the blinding white seared through his eyes, blinding him for an instant.

Severus Snape joined the turncoats. Now was the time for rebellion it seemed: there was nothing binding him to either side, and with nothing to fight for, he went to the people who could give him a cause. Draco had been infected with the venom of a Horcrux, from Nagini's bite; that was something he was able to help with. As he'd helped Dumbledore.

"Your arm," he spoke with the remnants of his sneer, reaching out and snatching up Draco's hand; pulling it straight and cutting away the fore-arm of his robes with a muttered incantation in less than a second.

On the pale skin, the wound was all the more shocking; mottled grey and black flesh, spreading the circumference of his wrist and beginning to move out onto his hand. The central tear in his skin seemed to be growing wider, splitting the flesh as the life in it seemed to wither away.

"Severus," it was McGonagall who interrupted, the first to react to the surprising intrusion. Her hand gripped Snape's arm; an arm which held a wand pointed at the infected flesh.

"Trust him," Draco was the next to speak, surprising Snape as much as everyone else. "I know you can. He was working for Dumbledore, that's part of what he told me. On the tower."

The greasy haired once Potions Master looked at Malfoy with a mixture of curiosity and thanks, murmuring something unintelligible and bathing the envenomed fore-arm in a pale light.

"He also said that you can't stop it, not completely," Malfoy interrupted Snape's spell-work, "Not when the infection's gone straight to the blood. You can slow it down though, maybe for a year or so. Don't bother. I just need a day."

Severus looked up, expression calculating yet surprised.

"Do it, we're rushed if you haven't noticed," Draco rolled his eyes, dismissive, "I just need to get through the next couple of days. Probably less. I-" the blonde paused, catching himself. "Just do it. Fix it up later if you have to, but be quick now."

As if to emphasize Malfoy's words, a few sparks of light, thankfully harmless, broke through the shield; though the protection was quickly raised once more.

Confused by Draco's request, yet accepting the need for haste, Snape murmured a few more low words, moving his wand in small circles and tying ribbons of grey light around the infected wound. The mottled skin tingled, burned for a moment, before turning numb, withered.

"If I had access to my potions…" Snape drawled.

"I don't care," Draco cut in, pulling his arm away yet continuing to wield his wand in the other hand. "Protego!" he yelled, pointing to join the massive shield.

It was in the verge of failure. That was immediately evident; the defence was visible, spells dissipating as they hit it, yet coming closer and closer each time. Several flashes left what seemed to be tatters in the air, remnants of the powerful magic; constantly renewed by the defenders of Hogwarts, yet nonetheless beginning to fail.

Bellatrix Lestrange glared towards Snape. "Traitor!" she cried, throwing a whirling ball of black light. That curse nearly shattered the shield; held back only by the combined efforts of Luna, Snape and Draco.

Her wide, wild eyes glared at the shield for a moment, enraged. "Betrayer!" one more shriek; she whirled around on the spot, a flash of blue light: she was glaring at Snape for just one moment, lips curled in a snarl: "Traitors will be punished!"

And she was gone in a flash of light. Perhaps she fully intended to return soon, somehow. Yet now she was gone into the blue light.

And after that instant, Lord Voldemort raised his hybrid-enhanced Elder Wand, twirling it in one hand; the incantation seemed more like a strangled yell. And he thrust it towards the shield charm; the defenders were attempting to walk away, slowly, the whole crowd moving slowly backwards: yet they all added power to the shield, protecting themselves from the now unstoppable confrontation.

A piercing beam of white/blue light struck the shield, audibly humming, striking the raised, powerful Protego, for one second. Two; the shield started to tear, breaking apart-

"Shield up, Tom," a voice came from around them, astonishingly loud; echoing in the ruins of the Great Hall. It was dark; knowingly so, unhappily so. It regretted something, the extremes it had been driven to; yet was happy to continue, until things were back to normal.

Lord Voldemort had just enough time to look up; and end the beam in order to raise that shield, before everything went white.

O

Far, far up in the sky: the Doctor ran his sonic over the controls for the Dalek ship, hastily making sure that he triggered no alarms. The dim green light was the only illumination, save for the sick red of the hybrid crystal; yet even that was blocked out by the Doctor's body as he leant over the console, guided only by the light of that screwdriver.

He was able to watch the battle at Hogwarts, guiding the Dalek ship until it was directly over the castle; and moving in sync with the earth's rotation. As he watched, Bellatrix vanished; the Dalek sensors picked up temporal disturbances, and the Time Lord allowed himself a grim smile. Fury had defeated her, in the end: in anger, she'd gone back in time. And he already knew how that ended; she killed Rory, tried to kill Amy, and the curse rebounded. She was dead, now.

Another flash of light: Lord Voldemort was directing some staggeringly powerful curse at the defenders of Hogwarts, some kind of white beam; uncannily similar to a Dalek's weapon. The Doctor watched as it moved towards the protect charm; he could see, from his vantage point, the mechanical additions to the wand light up, signalling a powerful hybrid spell. Not good.

For a split second, his mind ran through every possibility: and in the end, there was just one he could manage successfully. Wincing, he clicked his sonic and tapped it on the console twice.

"Shield up, Tom," he murmured quickly into a microphone, channelling the noise down to the castle with the ship's systems, needing to give him a warning. Then, the sonic tapped a panel on the console before him, sending a soft humming through the craft.

The Dalek weaponry aboard the ship fired, just one shop, with impeccable accuracy; it struck the Death Eaters, dissipating on their shield, eventually. Strain was evident on the Dark Lord's face; the ship's shot was powerful, enough to threaten even a hybrid shield.

"Leave the castle, now," the Doctor spoke into the microphone again, keeping the sonic near the panel. "I can't let you win, Tom. You know that."

Voldemort stared up at the sky, knowing the source of the attack yet unable to see it.

"I'm the Doctor," the Time Lord continued; "Remember me? The Oncoming Storm, if it helps. I warned you about the Dalek, but you're like everyone else: you just don't listen when it matters. The consequences are yours. But right now, that doesn't matter: you're in Hogwarts, and you shouldn't be. I'm using technology that belongs to your orange, pepper-pot friend, I'm the Oncoming Storm, and you are threatening my friends."

The Doctor fired again; purposefully missing, hating the feel of the Dalek controls beneath his hands. He hated guns, even when used indirectly, like this. Especially when used indirectly: made it easier to make excuses, to disassociate.

Still, he accepted necessity; he fired away from Voldemort, directly between the two sides, where no one stood. Aimed specifically; mental trickery. He wouldn't have fired at Voldemort, wouldn't have fired with any intent to injure, he never would: but they didn't know that.

The Time Lord was unable to hear Tom Riddle's words. Probably some insult. Shrugging, the Doctor took a step back from the console screen as soon as he was satisfied that Voldemort was leaving Hogwarts.

Turning, his eyes fell upon the crimson, alight, crystal ball. The progress bar was very close to completion now; but he couldn't let that happen, couldn't give the Daleks that much knowledge, that much power.

He turned around again, prodding his sonic screwdriver against the console; the only way he had to operate the ship. A click and a buzz later, and he smiled; the Daleks hadn't incorporated an easily accessible self-destruct into this ship, but it was easy to rig up a replacement. In two minutes, if he'd set the timer correctly, the gun would fire again; at the same time, reflective shields (normally used for traversing physically through stars) would be raised; and the shot would rebound, and at the angle to which it had been aimed, it would pierce straight through the ship, straight through that crystal ball and subsequently eradicating both it and its calculations. It would probably reflect off the shields the other side too, until the ship was scarcely more than a husk of metal in space.

On the screen, the number '20' appeared. It flashed for a few seconds, loading the operating procedure the Doctor had typed in.

"Twenty, no," the Doctor rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, "That's too long, the crystal ball would finish calculating in that time…" his voice trailed off as it ticked down to 19. Then 18.

"Ah," he murmured, "Seconds. Well, rels," he seemed about to speak to himself once more, before seeing '17'. At that, he span around and ran, wildly climbing up the impromptu rope, and leaping inside the TARDIS just as the counter ticked down to 4.

With a wheezing, a groaning, he dematerialised; leaving the Dalek ship ablaze in sudden, violent light.

O

Lord Voldemort stood stock still, simmering with fury. Forced out of Hogwarts, forced away from his tantalizingly close victory.

Bellatrix was in the past; he did not wish to disturb her. She'd be wrecking any hope that the castle had, making it so, so much easier for him. His pale lips curled into a savage smile.

In the mean time however, in the present, there were still things that he could do. He and his Death Eaters stood on the verge of the Forbidden Forest, refusing to leave the grounds entirely. They carefully watched the distant castle.

The orange Dalek lay concealed in the trees. Dormant, it seemed; unmoving, un-reacting.

The Dark Lord's eyes returned to the stone school: tall, proud, burning. It seemed somehow wrong, missing one spire; tower stolen, flung to the ground beside it. Served them right; as did this. He was more than happy to wreck the castle now; it would be so much easier to fix it, should he so desire.

Softly, he trod away from the rest of his followers, watching the distant castle carefully.

"Impermoen," he whispered the hybrid spell once more, frowning for a brief moment. The Elder Wand seemed to struggle, almost resist as he cast the incantation once again: gaining complete control of the stones of the school once more, and depositing a new command in the rocks.

"Kill," he murmured, barely audible: "Crush everyone."

And in the distance, the stones of the ruined Hogwarts shivered somewhat; and slowly, but surely, unrelenting, the walls drew inwards.


	18. The Last Horcrux

**Not the best chapter again this time, this one would probably work best on film... Still, an important chapter, hopefully you'll still like it.  
>We're obviously near the end. Might run on a chapter or two more than planned (this chapter misses out three key events which were originally going to be included in it, until it ran on). Still, enjoy! <strong>

The Riddle House. Amy hesitantly made her way closer to it, through the deserted, dark grounds. A twig snapped, crisp leaves rustled; she frowned at that. It wasn't Autumn, yet rusty leaves covered the ailing grass. The plant life around the house was dying; she could see one tree, bark peeling away, branches bare and visibly brittle.

Tentatively, she made her way to the door of the House, tensing as she began to channel Bellatrix; taking on her walk, her posture, her gestures. All the subtle little details, from the way she cocked her head to the way her feet stayed poised to pounce after each step. A more perfect disguise than any other; their movements were identical, making it oddly easy to mistake Amy for the now-dead Lestrange.

There was a follower of Voldemort on guard around the house. Not branded with the Dark Mark, but under consideration. No doubt there were normally others, but they were at Hogwarts.

Arda; that was her, she was the one here. Amy recalled the name from the fragment of Bellatrix.

Seconds after recalling the name, she caught sight of a flicker by a window. Her eyes rested there for a moment; there was no glass in the frame. Evidently the Death Eaters didn't care much about the state of the place.

So, Arda was by that window. Amy paced towards it, doing her best to hide the slight tremor in her step. Reaching the frame, she was about to walk through (feeling the door was too obvious a path), before frowning: she couldn't make it through the frame. Though there was no physical barrier, the air seemed to repel any progress. Magic, then; Amy chuckled at herself. Why would wizards bother with glass? She should've seen it coming.

"Arda!" she yelled, feeling a little of Bellatrix seep into her voice. She shouted into the house, trying to find a way in. Whenever she considered entering through the door, she felt an instinctive dread.

As the redhead watched, a Death Eater strode into view, walking through a cracked door, onto damp floorboards.

The witch was self-assured; it was obvious in each step. She didn't pause once, simply walking out, and looking out through the window towards Amy. Even though they were level, she gave the impression of looking down; her eyes were unremitting in their glare.

Thin, pale brown hair covered her head, severely pulled back, out of her face, before vanishing beneath a black hood. Only a tarnished silver mask was visible, concealing any recognizable features; and displaying an altogether different visage. Perhaps from boredom, Arda had scratched a ghoulish countenance into the metal; twisted eyes of ash, and a mad grin.

"You love to intimidate," Amy rolled her eyes; the dismissive words fell from her lips before she realized it. Bellatrix's influence again. Even like this, the witch seemed to revel in any kind of pain; and when the only thing she could use was words, she used her voice, mocking.

"You are?" Arda's voice was clipped, quick; yet losing no clarity. "As you have made it past the grounds' shield, you are either granted permission to enter or are a powerful witch who means harm. I do not recognize your face, so-"

"You expect to recognize my face?" Amy winced as an eerily distinctive cackle fell from her lips.

The TARDIS had moved them past the shield; a dome which prevented anyone from nearing the Riddle House. Amy was glad of that; anything that required witchcraft would be beyond her. She hoped this guard didn't request any magical proof.

"Polyjuice Potion. It's very simple," the redhead's voice was openly mocking now; Amy winced at the words Bellatrix forced out. Was it really clever to so blatantly insult a witch?

"I see no reason to believe-" Arda's rapid speech was against interrupted by Amy's voice. It made the redhead shiver, the ease at which she could access her Lestrange side, have Rory's murderer speak using her lips.

Even if it wasn't physically the witch present, even if it was just an accessible echo of personality, it still repulsed her.

"You have not looked. Pathetic," there was no worry in Amy's mind; well, nothing on the surface. Inwards, she was tense, afraid; yet the fragment of Bellatrix in control was amused, laughing. She had enough ego to think that she was at no risk, and was so used to power that she could barely comprehend risk.

"I am looking," Arda spoke now with barely-concealed frustration: but unwilling to attack just yet. Bellatrix's antagonism had achieved that at least, made Arda curious. Protected by the magical shield within the window frame, she had no reason to worry. "Who do you claim to be, pretender?"

"I am Bellatrix Lestrange," Amy hissed, standing straighter and staring straight through the clear gap; her hands gripped the insubstantial barrier as if there were bars. "Let me enter. The Dark Lord will be most…displeased if you prevent me from completing my task."

Arda watched Amy warily. She didn't know what to think; partly, it was hard to accept such words at face value, yet there was also the matter of the depth, the detail of the façade, Every syllable was intoned how the witch would pronounce such things, every word; even her physical gestures, tiny things, her eyes, her fingers. Everything reminded Arda of the feared Death Eater.

"And a reason to believe?" The witch spoke deceptively calmly; her hand was tightly clenched around her wand, all her frustration being channelled into brutish tension, almost snapping the hilt. Was it Bellatrix, or wasn't it?

"What reason do you need?" Amy's voice took on a baby-like tone, taunting; before deepening again, with a warning warble present. "He trusts me. A great deal more than he trusts you, if I am out serving him and not stuck guarding a sword."

"How do you know about the sword?" Arda whipped her wand out, in an instant pointing it towards the redhead intruder. Disconcerted.

Voldemort had struck a clever balance in his guarding of the Sword of Gryffindor. He'd impressed the importance of the task upon the few guards, of whom only Arda was not at Hogwarts: yet those guards were not important, not overly skilled. Some weren't even Death Eaters.

If anyone was seeking out his weaknesses, they would not come here; unless they knew about Horcruxes, but Voldemort was sure few did. And even then, he didn't feel the need to guard this one as securely as the others. Goblin-made: indestructible.

Amy/Bellatrix smirked; this was going somewhere.

"He told me, of course," an eerily casual smile adorned her lips; "He wishes me to bring it to him."

"That I doubt," Arda gave a bark of laughter; "Else why would I be assigned to-"

"You speak on his behalf?" Amy injected a note of warning into her voice; the witch tensed.

It was oddly exhilarating, using the soul segment in her mind. And it shouldn't be; Amy couldn't help but mentally shudder at how she almost enjoyed the sensations of Bellatrix's control. There was the feeling of charisma, the feeling of power; hated power, but power nonetheless. Addictive. Thrilling-

No.

Arda hesitated for an instant before responding, a crack in her normally flawless composure. She was beginning to doubt; good.

"Very well," Arda's rapidly paced voice sounded once more; "You say you are hear at the Dark Lord's behest, to take the Sword: and you say you are Bellatrix. Give me proof."

"What proof do you wish?" Amy pressed herself against the 'window', exhaling softly, almost relishing the opportunity. "To know how I last laughed at you and your pitiful attempts to gain his favour? How you started off afraid but finished learning from me, enjoying the torture of Muggles? What do you want to know, Arda?"

The witch seemed visibly shaken at how much Amy knew. It must have been disconcerting, Lestrange's manner represented exactly in each motion, each gesture that the redhead made. Her words were harder to choose, they seemed to end up being a fusion of both their personalities: yet it seemed enough to work.

"Very well," the witch seemed more secure now, hiding her emotions once more. She stepped back; twitched her wand once. Instantly, the magical barrier in front of the redhead vanished; and Amy stepped up, nimbly slipping through the window.

The redhead withheld a sigh of relief. She may be in the House, but she didn't have the Sword yet; softly, she cupped the Doctor's device. It was in her pocket, ready to call the TARDIS, get her out of there. A small cylinder; the beacon.

Still, it did feel relatively easy; more than she expected. Especially considering that it was a Horcrux. Even if it was naturally indestructible, it seemed odd that such a, well, gullible witch would be put on guard. Then again, without the remnant of Bellatrix, Amy's deception probably would have failed instantly. Her knowledge and her manner; that's what fooled Arda.

"By the way," the witch turned slowly. Amy looked up, blinking; and for an instant she met Arda's eyes. In that instant, she knew what would happen, and was already moving when the witch cried: "Legilimens!"

Glimpsing small snippets of her past, echoes of moments rolling through her mind's eye, to Arda's, the redhead struggled forward. Just as the witch gave a bark of laughter of: "A Muggle! Ha!" Amy fell forwards, arm outstretched; she gripped Arda's wand and yanked it away, throwing it across the room.

With that, the redhead ran, inwardly (and guiltily) praising Bellatrix's instincts. The Death Eater had recognized all the little signals, the tell-tale signs of the spell to come, and an edge of violence had given Amy the ability to react before Arda yelled the inevitable killing curse.

Amy found herself in a corridor; hesitating for a split second. Arda would have almost regained her wand by now; scarcely a moment had passed. Sprinting through the Riddle House, relying on vague shadows, vague memories gleaned from the surface of Bellatrix's mind, Amy Pond concealed herself (however ironically) in the cupboard below the stairs.

And she stopped moving. Almost stopped breathing, hiding where she was. Arda hadn't seen her come here; and now there was a chance to think.

Did she know anything about the layout of the Riddle House, about anything that might be in here? Well, she knew where the Sword was. Below, a basement or something: but how to get there? The route in her mind was sketchy. She remembered Apparition being her main means of movement. Pity.

Footsteps; the redhead froze, stilling almost completely. The floorboards creaked below Arda. The witch was searching for her. Creak; footsteps above her now. Arda was ascending the stairs. Good; that should give her a little more time.

Amy exhaled, quiet.

So, what was there here? She'd been in this house a little, but the first memories that came to her were useless. The Dalek had once been kept here. Voldemort had used it temporarily as a base. Little things.

She blinked for a moment; the Sword had been kept in the same place as the Dalek, somehow that seemed logical to her. And she recalled quite clearly a journey down to see the Dalek: so that's where the Sword had be!

It was strange, sifting through someone else's memories; they didn't move together as smoothly as her own, they were jagged, incomplete. Flashes.

Before the redhead was able to stand, to leave the cupboard, she felt an odd sensation; a kind of tingling, an echo of a spell. She frowned, scanning her memories in an effort to recall the sensation; some kind of spell.

Homenum Revelio; to locate any nearby people. That's what the sensation entailed; yet by the time she remembered that, Arda was audibly leaping down the stairs. Creaks, bangs, thuds.

The witch didn't need to open the door to the cupboard; Amy turned, tensed, ready to run; when the wood simply exploded, splinters simply falling. And Arda moved closer: "Avada-"

The redhead sprinted forwards, wincing as she felt Bellatrix's rage course through her for an instant; physically knocking the wand aside as she moved. Breathless, body quivering with the effort of restraining her inner Death Eater's fury, she began on her way down to the Sword. It was this way…then there, and-

"Stupefy!" Arda yelled the spell rapidly; Amy was forced to leap sideways into another room, metres from the stairs down to the basement, to avoid the jinx; yet she could feel it whizz past her. Too close.

The new room was fairly small; just a few metres in size, and a dead end. An oddly ornate armchair, a grand candlestick on the mantelpiece, a few scatterings of ash in a fire place. No way out. Not good.

The redhead's mind whirled as she heard the creaking of Arda's approach. Seconds left, this was happening too quickly. Why had she come into this room? There was a choice; another doorway to her other side, maybe she could have sprinted down the corridor the little bit more needed to get into the basement. Yet she'd turned into here, into this room. Was there a reason? She didn't want to believe it was just chance; if it was just chance, she'd die.

Arda was outside the door. She heard the last footstep-

"Bella," the Dark Lord hissed, one pale, skeletal hand raised; a click. The wax candles lit for a moment, soft. In that he, he held something small, something metal; something he later placed on the mantelpiece, having no need of it. Upon examination and practise, his conclusion was that it was useless; or rather, would not reveal its secrets to him.

That was her chance! At the sudden memory, Amy stepped forwards, hand running across the mantelpiece, brushing a candlestick, until she felt that tiny cuboid of metal; the Deluminator, stolen by Voldemort. She turned; just in time to see Arda step into view, wand outstretched.

Click; Amy shut her eyes, violently clicking the device. Perhaps her willpower amplified it. Whatever the cause, each candle stick in the room sudden flared, blindingly bright; not expecting the sudden light, Arda was momentarily blinded, firing a killing curse at random through the room and missing.

Amy looked up; and for a moment froze. Bellatrix was still inside her; and she'd all but called the witch to the surface in her casual perusal of memories. Now the Death Eater demanded yet more release; the woman's screaming echoed in the redhead's ear, a demand for freedom. She could see herself, reaching out; if not killing, then harming, torturing Arda, the feeble witch who dared oppose her. She, Bell-

Amy. Amy Pond. She couldn't forget that. She was Amy, she was not Bellatrix.

Suppressing a momentary violent impulse, she ran past the witch, again knocking her wand from her hand; the only, brief outlet for the savagery brimming within her. This time, her hand curled around the wooden hilt, stealing the implement.

And she ran. In seconds, she was falling into the basement; still holding the stolen wand, and looking up to see the Sword of Gryffindor.

She took in her surroundings rapidly. Arda was no doubt still planning to chase.

The Sword of Godric Gryffindor stood like Excalibur in the myths, the blade resting in the rough stone floor, shining hilt pointing towards the ceiling, the rooms and the sky beyond. The ruby caught the light; glinted, yet its brilliance seemed somewhat muffled. At the right angle, a snarling, barely human face was visible within the Horcrux. The indestructible Horcrux.

A circle of translucent blue light surrounded the blade, about a metre radius, centring on the Sword. Amy frowned; she had no recollection of that, but it was evidently some kind of barrier. She did not dare cross it.

But what actually was it? What did it do? And she had to cross it, had to reach the Sword.

Arda's yell was just audible; apparently her momentary blindness was fading, allowing her to follow the redhead with ease. Amy winced, running through the basement, to the other side of the circle. If the witch had no wand, that should at least slow her down.

For an instant, Amy felt anger, darkness; her eyes went wild, wide; Bellatrix's influence. She tensed. But resisted, her mind holding against the fury of the deceased Death Eater. Anything she did here would be by her own hand, not Rory's murderer.

Yet it could not be denied, the dark witch did have some influence.

The Deluminator was easy to use; it seemed to mostly be operated by thought. Strikingly cold, her eyes watched the entrance to the basement; Arda's robes flicked into view.

Click.

The torches illuminating the basement were immediately extinguished; the only light remaining was in the dim, eerie flicker of the ruby. It gave no clue as to its surroundings.

"Muggle!" Arda's voice sounded. A muffled sound as her footsteps contacted the basement floor; "Darkness does not save you."

"Oh yeah?" Amy shouted a reply bravely. She was silent for a few seconds, mentally judging the distance Arda had travelled. Then: "Well, it doesn't seem to have done you any favours," she clicked the Deluminator, illuminating the room-

Just in time to see Arda blink, and step forwards. She touched the translucent circle; and instantly, the Sword's ruby was aglow. A streak of red energy darted from it, like lightning, cutting through the air to touch the break in the circle. Arda's eyes widened; and she struggled even to scream, the air boiling in her mouth.

Amy struggled to feel pity. Maybe it was Bellatrix's influence; or maybe it was simple, base revenge. They were responsible for the death of Rory. Twice over. She couldn't forgive that.

Whatever the case, she hoped that Arda's interruption may have helped; sprinting forwards, she broke through the circle. The Sword did not attack her; the red energy focused on Arda, burning away her skin; where the energy touched, there was just ash, spreading like decay. Perhaps that was the defence's intent: similar to the potion, one person must be brought as a sacrifice so that the other may gain the Horcrux.

Amy Pond gripped the Sword of Godric Gryffindor by the hilt, yanking it up from the earth in a suitably Arthurian gesture; and with her free hand, she pocketed the Deluminator and clicked the Doctor's beacon.

Sparing one last look down at the agonized, collapsed yet still living Arda, the redhead turned away, hastily leaving the circle and watching the light in the ruby dim to a flicker.

The TARDIS began to materialize around her.


	19. The Fate of Hogwarts

**I am allowed to be dramatic!  
><strong>**Also, for some reason, the format changes I make in Word are erased when they go on here now, I think I fixed most but it any case, if some things seem odd, that might be why.  
>Enjoy!<strong>

Within Hogwarts, there was chaos. The students, the teachers, the Order, any and all defenders present had gathered in the ruins of the Great hall once more, watching Voldemort's Death Eaters depart.

But from that instant, they were trapped. They talked with one another, began discussing plans; Filch even admitted a grudging sense of gratitude to Peeves. Draco and Luna were cheered, Snape muttered to himself, weaving bandages of light with his wand and scowling somewhat when Draco refused to accept them.

The blackened, mottled skin on his arm seemed to be spreading, ever-so-slowly. The venom of a Horcrux, running through his system; he felt no pain, save for a faint burning. Very faint.

And the stones of Hogwarts had once more come alive; not the rubble littering the floor, but instead the wreckage of the walls around them. Broken archways, shattered walls, fallen statues; a new, immensely powerful hybrid curse impelled them. Controlled them. And new walls were formed, riding up, up; circling, surrounding the defenders until there was no escape.

Some tried to flee through the wall as it formed. Death awaited them as, alarmingly fast, those gaps were sealed shut by jaws of stone. The only possibility was to wait within the ever-expanding cocoon of rock; until it blotted out the sky.

Every single defender of Hogwarts lay trapped inside it. All the people who resisted the Dark Lord; trapped. And now the stones began to draw inwards, ever-so-slowly, imbued with Voldemort's sense of ego. It was taunting them. They could do nothing to escape.

Some cried out Lumos, bringing light into the prison; others cast Reducto and the like at the great stone walls. Walls constructed by hybrid magic: any magic attempting to break the stone may have succeeded, yet the magic held it together.

"_Reducto_!" Aberforth yelled, flinging a whirling, blinding ball of light at one such wall.

The prison was the size of the Great Hall. Rubble had lifted from the ground, like some immense sandstorm, centred on where the defenders met. Inescapable.

"_Reducto_!" Draco, McGonagall, Luna, Neville, almost everyone shouted at the same instant; having decided to work together. Hundreds, if not thousands, of spells struck the stone wall, on pretty much the same spot.

A sudden cataclysm, a flash of white/gold light; and nothing. The brick turned to dust, but each and every particle was held together by the unnatural theurgy wielded by Voldemort.

The walls drew inwards. The people within drew closer to one another, now honestly afraid. Terrified. The walls were coming in; to crush them. There was no way out; their continuing attempts to wreck the walls failed. Apparition was impossible within Hogwarts; and even otherwise, it was likely Voldemort had a plan for that eventuality.

Minerva whispered an incantation, touching her wand to the stone; she stood near the outside of the shrinking huddle of students. Impermoen, the word echoed from the stone at her touch. So, that was the incantation used to control the stone: it didn't do any use, yet it felt somehow comforting to at least know the means of their death.

"_Finite Incantatem,_" McGonagall closed her eyes, pointing her wand at the wall and pronouncing the words softly, intent on focusing. She'd done such magic before; she'd needed to focus an incredible amount. While she doubted she could focus quite that much here, and even though the curse felt more powerful, she owed it to the defenders of Hogwarts to at least try.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the light emanating from her wand seemed to achieve something. The wall was rebuffed; well, it as starting to be. So slowly; she repeated the incantation again, quietly watching, focusing…

One brick hesitated. Just one brick; pausing, dissuaded by Minerva's counter-charm. It fell out of the fatal cocoon; yet the gap was soon filled by more of the rubble.

That was their last hope. Failure.

The stones drew closer, eager to crush, kill: urged on by Voldemort's murderous whim.

O

"Hello, Amy!" the Doctor beamed, twirling around in front of the console, to see the redhead's haunted face.

Amy was struggling to speak. Her hands tingled, as if they'd been burnt by the touch of the Horcrux, her head ached from the constant battle against her inner Bellatrix, the witch temporarily unfettered in her attempt to get through the Riddle House and now refusing to fade away. A trickle of blood fell from her nose, a tiny physical manifestation of the quaking in her head.

"Amy," the Doctor murmured, joy quickly fading from his face. His eyes ran down her shivering form; the silver Sword had fallen from her hand, clattered onto the grating.

Her eyes glinted. Literally; a distant echo of red light, deep inside the pupil. Her forehead crumpled; aching. Her head felt fit to burst; Bellatrix's crowing, her frantic attempts to shut the witch away after the confrontation with Arda, and now something else; something that made her tense. Almost unnoticeable; subtle. Her vision became tinted with red; the same shade as the Sword's ruby.

"Doctor," her voice was eerily slow; she didn't realize it however. She took several seconds on each syllable; yet to her, nothing was amiss. Her perceptions were awry; her voice drained of any emotion. She shivered.

On the floor, the Sword of Gryffindor seemed to shimmer; the ruby momentarily flaring.

The Time Lord watched for scarcely a second more before turning once more; it was some effect of the Horcrux. It had to be; the same light glittered deep in her eyes.

The locket made the wearer angry, the diary corrupted, manipulated those who wrote into it, the ring poisoned the wearer; each Horcrux seemed to have some extravagant means of defence in addition to any placed around it. Apparently, the Sword did this; whatever it was. And this Horcrux was presumably made after Voldemort learned about Hybrid Technology; the Doctor didn't want to find out what it was.

Why hadn't he thought of this, before putting Amy into such danger?

He yanked a lever down on the console; engines grinding. In flight. Good.

The Sword continued to shine; goblin-made, indestructible by any normal, known means. Well, the Doctor was never a fan of those methods.

He'd thought ahead this much; he knew a way to destroy the Sword. The ruby was openly illuminated now, some light inside the gem casting crimson rays over its surroundings.

The Doctor took one glance at it; and gritted his teeth.

"Hold on, Pond," he said; commanding. Then, without a pause, he ran across the TARDIS, past the redhead, and with one foot just behind the blade of the Sword, he flung the doors open-

And kicked the last Horcrux, whirling, into the destructive infinities of the time vortex.

The red spark within Amy's eyes brightened for an instant. Just an instant; then flickered out, a candle flame in the wind. The headaches lessened; she felt, somehow, more present, more real: yet Bellatrix continued to rage.

"Doctor," her voice was up to its normal tempo; isolated from the corrupting influence of the Horcrux. A pause. "I – She-" the redhead froze, breath catching in her throat. Then she spoke again, a new harshness in her voice, very definite echoes of Bellatrix; "Doesn't matter. Where next, killing the Dalek?"

The Doctor turned slowly, watching the redhead turn her body around also; facing him, and the doors behind him. Hastily, the Doctor shut the doors with a click, hiding the eternities away.

"Soon, yeah," the Doctor's voice cracked; speaking softly. "One thing first. I said I could help." The Time Lord took one step closer to Amy; a little disconcerted by her posture. So different to the Pond he was used to. With a gentle sigh, he rested one hand on the side of her head; the redhead's eyes widened for an instant, wild, before relaxing.

Harry hadn't needed to deal this; when the shard of Voldemort had embedded itself in his mind, he'd just been a child. The two had grown up together; they shared traits (Parseltongue, and a nasty temper), but Harry hadn't known life without those seeds of fury. Amy however understood freedom, understood her own personality: and when those echoes of Bellatrix's temper and mind had tried to merge with her own, she'd cordoned them off. Yet they still tried to fight; resulting in this.

The Doctor's mind delicately entered hers, soothing. He expertly moved past all Amy's secrets, softly moving around them; those things were private. He didn't want to see them. He focused only on one thing; and when he was this focused, nothing could get in his way.

The remnant of Bellatrix was so obvious; a leech, a maggot, some kind of parasite latched on to the corners of her psyche. The Doctor saw it; moved closer, his progress through Amy's mind more a caress than any kind of pacing.

"You died," the Doctor thought; whispering to the fragment of the Death Eater. "I'm sorry, but that's how it is. Don't be afraid of it."

He could force the witch away, of course he could; but that wasn't who he was. That wasn't what he'd do; and he'd treaded a lot of his own boundaries recently, he was even contemplating murder. With this at least, he'd stick to his principles. As best he could.

Amy was his priority; the rightful mind, the living mind. Not the parasite of rage that so desperately clung on.

"This is Amy's mind, not yours," the Time Lord continued to whisper. Calm; gentle. "Please don't-"

Amy's mouth began screaming. Bellatrix Lestrange wanted to live; hated the cool, calm, almost seductive words of this stranger. The remnant held on to life; held on as best she could. But she didn't enjoy this; didn't enjoy it at all. Hated being just a passenger, watching, only vaguely influencing a body. Even though she barely possessed the rudiments of sentience, it was enough to fling her further into violent insanity; and enough to make her wish for something else.

A something that the voice so calmly offered.

"Let go, Bellatrix," the Doctor whispered; and the witch at last relented, obeyed. With a thought, her mind clung on to the Doctor's; and the Time Lord pulled away from the redhead.

For an instant, Bellatrix felt that for which she craved; a sense of complete freedom, between two bodies, and in neither, pulled out of Amy yet unable to move completely into the Doctor. And then she was gone, dissipated, less than an echo; the fragment fragmenting into infinitesimal shards.

Amy fell forwards, sobbing; so, so glad to be rid of Rory's murderer. The Doctor held her, calm, quiet.

"Shh, Shh Pond," he whispered quietly to her; "It's over now, it's over."

He lied, and they both knew it. There was so much more to come; yet she felt grateful for his attempts at comfort.

O

McGonagall moved her wand in an intricate pattern, a sketch of light forming in the air; a barrier of sorts, flung forwards towards the merciless wall. It did nothing to the cursed rock.

The stone drew closer. Slowly, inexorably; unstoppable. The walls moved inwards.

A new noise sounded; instead of the grinding of rock, the ugly screeching, the thuds and bangs of so much magic being cast, the cries of individual students… There was another sound. A grinding, a wheezing; oddly familiar. It came from the centre of the hall; the empty centre. No one stood there; most people had moved outwards a surprising amount, doing their best to form a barrier against the stone.

Light. Grinding. Then, slowly, a blue shimmer formed in the air; coalescing into a strangely simple shape. A blue police box.

"Hello-" the Doctor strode out of the box, grinning broadly, seemingly happy; before freezing mid-step as he saw the nearly pitch-black surroundings, illuminated only by momentary flares which sputtered out against emotionless stone.

McGonagall stopped her complex incantations, turning to see the Time Lord. With one last attempt at freezing the progressing wall, she turned and walked briskly through the wall of students, to the box in the centre.

"Doctor," she spoke quickly, authoritative. "That box. Transport. Would it be sufficient to take us out of here?"

There was a brief ripple among the few defenders who were able to listen to her; was she really suggesting that they abandon Hogwarts? Luckily, it seemed the Doctor had similar thought processes.

"No, no, we can't do that," the Doctor shook his head; "Can't just leave the castle. Hogwarts is important too. It's an event in its own right, and I, uh-" the man hesitated, looked around the black, shrinking, claustrophobic interior. "Ah. Let me guess; Tom cast a spell and everything starting shrinking around where you lot were?"

The Transfiguration teacher nodded once, unwilling to speak. She wasn't one to give up hope; yet if there was no way out, and their spells did not work, she could see no other way to survive.

"Hybrid technology," the Doctor mumbled to himself; he winced. "One sec. Um. I really shouldn't do this; really shouldn't, but…" he hesitated, before reaching out with one hand. "Tom's got a better grasp on the spell it seems, if it can't be resisted properly. Probably limited only because he's not the master of the Elder Wand, if I remember the books. Ah, well, anyway," he winced again; "Please can I borrow your wand?"

Mystified, yet willing to go along with the genius, eccentric Doctor, Minerva placed her wand in his hand, releasing it slowly. The Time Lord nodded in genuine gratitude, before turning around to run back into the blue box.

A few seconds passed, with a thump, a little banging, and a muffled 'come on Sexy!' Then, breathless, slightly guilty, the Doctor ran out of the TARDIS once more, holding McGonagall's wand aloft. He gripped it tightly in his hand, high in the air, as he met the teacher's eyes.

"Promise me you're just going to use it to un-hex the walls, Minerva. Please. I gave your wand a little TARDIS energy, a sort of Hybrid Tech in its way, only way I can think of to stop the wall." The Doctor paused. "Power corrupts, you're a witch, you should know that. Tom Riddle's out there, and he has to be a prime example. And this is powerful; I mean, really powerful. Wouldn't trust anyone with it, if I had the choice. But there is no other choice," he pronounced the last few words staccato, almost as if he was trying to convince himself; and decidedly reluctant.

"I promise," Minerva nodded once, slowly; a little taken aback by the passion in the Doctor's voice.

Hesitant, the Doctor lowered the wand into McGonagall's hand; it seemed to softly glimmer, veins of pale, golden light running through the wood. As soon as it touched the witch's palm, the light seemed to suddenly flare; and she was bathed in the same, steady, pale glow. She seemed to become younger, wrinkles fading away and hair becoming paler, lifting up by some unseen, unfelt breeze. The wand still recognized her; and with this kind of full, complete Hybrid Technology (rather than the watered-down version the Daleks shared with Voldemort), it bestowed so much power.

Power that McGonagall could feel. She felt younger than she looked; and she looked barely over thirty. The golden light continued to shine; and she lifted her wand, a flicker of white in her eyes as she stared at the oppressive stone.

"_Finite Incantatem_," her voice even sounded younger; not even a warble in it. Firm; and as the white-flecked-with-gold light hit the bricks, the stones themselves seemed to shiver. Shudder.

"_Oculus Reparo_," she spoke again; younger voice again resonating throughout the now-expanding chamber, the once-fatal cocoon of stone around them. Gold light began to spread, a thin mist; until the gentle, kindly fog emanated from each piece of the shattered stone. And they began to rise, to whirl; narrowly avoiding each student, rising; and new walls began to rise also, stone walls, the same as before. Hogwarts was rebuilding itself; forgetting the damage caused in the battle, and by the fury of Voldemort. The Hybrid magic enabled by the energies of the TARDIS animated each speck of dust, drawing it up from where it lay, moving it to exactly where it should be. The School slowly reformed-

"Seductive, isn't it?" the Doctor whispered, meeting McGonagall's eyes; he held the tip of her wand with his hand. Spoke softly; not accusingly, more with complete understanding. He'd felt it often enough himself.

"I'm sorry," Minerva spoke again; releasing the wand. Instantly, the gold glow dissipated; though Hogwarts itself still continued to rebuild itself until scarcely a speck of dust was out of place.

"Sorry?" the Doctor rolled his eyes; "For what, for being human? You could've done close to anything else, even commanded Tom himself, from this distance. Told his heart to stop beating perhaps; plenty of people here would've. Rebuilding Hogwarts, I'd have been almost disappointed if you hadn't," he flashed a smile, before disappearing off into the blue box again.

The students looked around, awed.

"Merlin's Beard!" one student exclaimed, very loudly, standing behind the teachers' table at the head of the hall, watching the wood slowly regrow.

"Didn't have one!" the Doctor shouted from inside the TARDIS, just audible. "Well, not then at least."

Amy wandered out the TARDIS absently, curiously; a little shaken. She mouthed 'ignore him,' to McGonagall; rolling her eyes as the teacher disobeyed.

"Are you trying to say that you met Merlin?" she spoke; voice stronger. The Hybrid wand seemed to have taken a few years off her age; she wasn't as young as the light made her seem, yet she was definitely much younger than before.

"Yes, well, no," the Doctor ran out of the TARDIS again, tossing McGonagall's (now normal) wand back to her; "Well, I was Merlin." A pause; "Look, never mind. Now, I've got a super-duper clever plan to set up, I just need to figure out what it is. I'll be back in a moment! Probably."

O

Silence in the corridors of Hogwarts; some people still feared to tread in them, feared to leave the Great Hall. So the Doctor walked alone through them; up several floors, hesitating every now and again to let the floor rebuild itself before him.

"Ooh, hello there!" he could be heard from a distance, talking to something unknown. "Yes, can I have your help? Nothing big. Just do what comes naturally. No, not on me," a pause; "Yes, that, that domed thing. It'll be outside in a moment or two. Probably." Another pause; the Time Lord didn't even blinked, speaking to something unseen. "Nah, won't be too easy. Still, if I'm right, and I always am… I trust it can't hurt you? Good. Only if my first plan fails though, ok? Ok."

The Doctor nodded at that, turning around and pacing back down the corridor, purposeful.

Barely a minute later and he was back in the Great Hall. Walking quickly, he moved swiftly through the crowd, stopping only by an unknown Sixth Year.

"Hello," he beamed; "Can you cast Sonorous?"

"I- uh, um, yes," she nodded, mystified. The Doctor grinned.

"Good!" he clapped his hands, once; "Meet me in the North Tower, in about five minutes. Thanks!"

The Doctor then sprinted along the stone, promptly crashing into the TARDIS door. He blinked, stepped back, and fumbled with the key for a moment.

"Ok, what are you doing?" Amy blinked, moving closer to him.

"Improvising," he turned to flash another smile; "And being generally cool. Time's fragile, I've got a little more freedom than normal, and not many people can stand against Tom out there; and he's obviously coming back. So we've got all of time and space to choose from, and hopefully enough leeway to bring someone, anyone, here."

"So…what?" Amy hesitated; "You're bringing Harry from the past?"

"Nah," the Doctor shook his head; "Not if I can help it. He's not a great dueller, in all fairness; and up against Hybrid Technology, you need all you can get. Priori Incantatem only goes so far."

"So?" Amy repeated, frowning; Harry was the only one who could face Voldemort though, the prophecy said so. What else could the Doctor do? "What are you planning?"

"Not a clue," the Doctor beamed again; "See you soon, Pond!"

With that, he vanished into the TARDIS; which immediately dematerialized, leaving an empty space in the centre of the Hall. Amy just stared.

O

Outside the caste, Lord Voldemort stared. Glared.

He'd commanded the stones of Hogwarts, with impossibly powerful magic, to draw inwards and crush every inhabitant. And now, as he watched, the bricks were righting themselves. Moving outwards, levitating, spreading outwards; even the tower he'd struck down was being lifted up once more, placed back where it belonged.

Hogwarts repaired itself, the whirlwind of cursed rock replaced by healed, whole stone. If anything, the castle seemed better off than it was before; the stones were less coarse, less weathered. Younger?

The Dark Lord screeched in rage; even the jagged, black scar which had decorated one tower for years had been fixed. Voldemort flung the Elder Wand forwards, feeling it spark blue and black; a whirling mass of energy shot out from the tip; and it faded as it struck the wall. The grey stones seemed to blacken for a moment; yet the Hybrid repair spell still coursing through it fixed the damage in an instant.

He turned slowly, hand shaking in temporarily suppressed rage.

Hogwarts dared survive that; the defenders had resisted and insulted him. No one was permitted to do even one of those things. Gripping his Hybrid wand tightly in one hand, the Dark Lord walked into the trees. Minutes later, alone, he found his way to the Dalek, the creature concealed inside the Forbidden Forest.

"Dalek," he hissed, "As I know you are called. You possess talent for destruction; give it to me. Give me a spell which will allow me to destroy Hogwarts utterly."

Silent, the orange creature turned its eyestalk to face him. For a moment, it seemed to simply watch him. Emotionless.

It was beginning to wonder why it persisted in using Lord Voldemort. Humans were inferior to Daleks, by definition. It had calculated so many spells, usable only with Hybrid wands, which were exponentially more powerful than normal magic. They'd be most useful, when the Scientist could leave this primitive world.

A pity that its ship had been destroyed. It gave no emotional response however; it could not. Besides, that was no more than a mild inconvenience, there was no reason why it could not simply Elevate into space; especially with the new Hybrid technology. The worst thing was the loss of the crystal ball; yet even that could be replaced.

All these thoughts went through the orange Scientist Dalek's mind in scarcely a split second. It then proceeded to scan the billions of new magicks that it had devised, settling on one in specific.

"_Nihil Epir Seriz_." The deep, grating voice spoke. The pale, Dark Wizard listened, lips curling eerily as it heard the incantation.

"_Nihil Epir Seriz_," he echoed, thrusting his wand forwards once, pointing it at one of the great trees within the Forbidden Forest. He put next to no effort into the spell, recounting it almost lazily.

Black lightning streaked from the end of his wand; crackled, expanded. When it struck the tree's trunk, a white sphere formed; a sphere composed entirely of energy and light. Just as rapidly as it formed, it expanded, dissipating as it did so; but nothing could existed where that light spread. Everything dissipated with it, to less than dust. And those crackling spheres of nothingness spread,

In less than one second, four trees had vanished utterly. And that was with no effort put into it.

Lord Voldemort exhaled, his smile seeming even more savage for an instant. He nodded once to the Dalek, refusing it even the slightest thanks; it didn't care.

Striding back to the castle, Lord Voldemort moved to the head of the Death Eaters, Elder Wand tightly gripped in his hand; the most powerful of all wands, and enhanced with Dalek Hybrid Technology. He stood completely still, fifty or so metres from the front of the castle, and staring at it; unremitting.

Silence. Some in Hogwarts stared out, holding their breaths; afraid of what he'd do next. The Death Eaters watched with fearful joy.

The Dark Lord lifted his immensely powerful wand, bringing it back; as if preparing to throw it.

Then, in an explosive instant, he threw that hand forwards; gripping onto the wand as he recited the incantation, blisteringly fast, literal flames appearing to form in the air around him.

_Nihil! Epir! Seriz!_

The same, impossibly strong theurgy arced through the air, lightning poised to strike at the once-sanctuary. The dark energy formed a circle with a metres-long radius, ridiculously huge, especially when compared to its origin; less than a tenth of the distance from Voldemort to Hogwarts, and it already dwarfed him in size; and gave no sign of being any weaker.

Less than half way closer to the gates of the castle, and the magic was almost the size of Hogwarts, arcs of lightning crackling, spreading instant annihilation to whatever it touched. Scarcely a second had passed. The Hybrid spell neared-

"Protego!" a man's voice cried; powerful. It was one of the voices which, when angry, could make almost anyone cringe, the tone of kindness turned sour.

White light suddenly emanated, guarding the front of Hogwarts; yet it was just normal magic. Not even a trace of Hybrid energy, it didn't stand a chance-

Yet the black lightning struck it, and was diminished; shrinking down into a single strand of blackness, which lashed down automatically towards a point to the side of the castle, in the shadows. The man, the defender gripped his wand as mad tremors ran through it; and Lord Voldemort's expression of furious triumph turned into one of mad disbelief.

A cord joined his wand to his foe's; a strong cord by the look of it.

It was either a sign than he bore the same wand as his foe (an impossibility, surely, his was the Elder Wand), or that his foe was…

"Harry Potter!" Lord Voldemort snarled, taking one step forwards, moving his arm as if whipping, sending shudders through the cord of Priori Incantatem.

The gold web began to form around them; yet there was no phoenix song. The core of this wand was very different; according to legend, it had been made by Death. Dark mist began to surround them.

"I'm afraid not, Tom," there was a twinkle of amusement in the otherwise ominous tone; and then, taken out from the past, Albus Dumbledore stepped forwards into view.

A cheer went up among the watching students of Hogwarts; a hiss among the Death eaters. Lord Voldemort's eyes widened; and he gripped his wand harder as he faced down the long-dead Headmaster of Hogwarts; taken by the Doctor and his TARDIS just hours before his death.

In his hands, the Elder Wand was tightly held, a cord of light binding it to its future self as the two great wizards faced each other.


	20. The Only One He'd Ever Feared

**Dramatic time! Yeah, these are a little longer than I'm expecting. This was just meant to be the beginning of a chapter, and instead it's a whole chapter in its own right, but oh well.  
>Enjoy! It's dramatic. And insane. Naturally, we're<em> very<em> near the end. Just one or two more chapters, if I stick to the plan... So, probably not. But anyway... enjoy!**

"Old man!" Voldemort spat scornfully; disguising what could only be called fear. His pale lips spread in a snarl; and he gripped his wand in both hands, trying to contain the perpetual shaking.

"Tom," Dumbledore merely shook his head sadly, speaking with surprising softness. He too gripped his wand firmly; yet did not make a show of it. Light illuminated the two; and an unknown gust of air whirled around them.

Robes fluttered, Dumbledore's hair forced up a small way by the minituare whirlwind. A cage of light began to form around them; the normal effects of Priori Incantatem, corrupted only by the Hybrid Technology present on one Elder Wand.

Dark fog began to pull itself from the air, its source unknown. The Death Eaters stepped back; instinctively afraid of this eerie mist, as it spread, blotting out some of the shining light. Within it, the two Wizards essentially duelled, sparks of magic shooting out, banishing the approaching darkness.

Their Wands would not harm each other; that was a simple tenet of wand-lore. However, that did not prevent Voldemort from trying. Albus simply did his best to defend, focusing, keeping the bead of light towards the centre of the link.

The crackling arc of energy which joined their wands emanated power, literally. An orb of molten energy writhed along it, moving from one wizard to the other; yet even apart from that, waves of force seemed to come off the link. The charred grass beneath the magic was flattened, forced to the ground; and the garments of the wizards themselves were not immune, thrown back as if in some immense gust of wind.

"I. Saw. You. Dead!" Voldemort shrieked, furious; forcing himself a step forwards with each word, seeming to whip the cord of magic as he did so. Dumbledore raised his forearm, covering his eyes as the light flared; yet continued to hold the bead of light level.

"Perhaps I am," Dumbledore did not appear afraid; he even shrugged; "But that has not yet come to pass." In another flash of light, his free hand was momentarily illuminated; grey, withered, in much the same way as Draco's. This was Dumbledore before his death, yet presumably just minutes before. Still fully alive.

Yet, Draco noticed as he watched, still weakened. There was a slight note of weakness in his voice, a slight strain. Each step was slowed; his cheeks were creased in response to some perpetual pain.

The Horcrux was still harming him; Dumbledore, possibly the greatest wizard, was severely weakened. Not a good thing; especially when duelling Voldemort.

"Your riddles have no place here!" the Dark Lord lashed his wand once more, a tremor running through the string of light.

"A pity then it is not you who decides what I say," Dumbledore's words were light, almost calm. He was resigned, as anyone would be, so close to an inevitable death. His hand still ached. Unmistakably though, his voice thrummed with power; with a majesty which left no doubt in the minds of the defenders of Hogwarts, that the elderly wizard was fully capable of winning this duel.

His pale foe scowled, twisting his wand in an intricate pattern, as if trying to shake the light off. Understandably, he failed; yet in doing so, the concentration then expended urged the sphere of light closer towards the bearded headmaster.

Albus resisted. He did not draw glyphs in the air, instead simply holding his wand in one hand, in front of his body, staring. For a few seconds, he was almost as still as a statue; willpower forcing the core of light back to the centre.

He did not seek to win the battle. No, he simply tried to prolong it. Forcing the bead across would achieve nothing, it would only temporarily reanimate the Dark Lord's many victims, which would achieve little.

Until he could determine a better course of action, Dumbledore duelled for no reason other than time. To let the castle he'd devoted so long to live a bit longer.

"I see you have lost the last of your Horcruxes," Dumbledore remarked, almost conversational; Voldemort tensed, raging.

The headmaster was not meant to know of those; and no one was meant to know that they'd all been destroyed. Though, Albus reflected, if you knew what you were looking for, it was strangely obvious; the Dark Lord moved as if he were more fragile than normal, more afraid. More than that though, it could almost be sensed. The torn shards of his soul seemed to bleed into the air, creating some sick aura; an incomplete figure. A figure which never could be completed, in this life or the next.

"I see you never possessed any," Voldemort snapped back; bitter, mocking. "Too afraid, old man? Too weak?"

"Merely disinclined," again, the headmaster of Hogwarts sounded light-hearted, almost kindly. His hand squeezed his wand, for an instant it seemed as if he was about to let go; yet he held on.

Lord Voldemort hissed; snarled. He brought his wand back in a jagged motion, yanking it into the air; fingers tensing around the hybrid technology present, knuckles going white. The cord of magic snapped, sparks of light cascading to the ground as the black fog began to retreat-

And he threw his wand forwards, keeping a tight grip on it as a whirl of green light was flung towards Dumbledore. A sudden flash; and once more, a chain of theurgy joined the two wizards. The Dark Lord scowled, face contorting into an expression of fury as he again snapped the link, whirling his wand like it was aflame, throwing another curse and crying out in fury as it was again blocked.

The link again shattered at a violent motion; and this time, before attacking, Voldemort caused a titanic flash of light. Momentarily, Albus hesitated; raising his wand to raise a shield, instantly on guard as he felt nothing come towards him. Eyes closed suddenly; sensing more than seeing.

There was an unmistakable thrum of magic, powerful magic in the air; the headmaster opened his eyes once more, staring across the field to the Dark Lord; the pale wizard had his lips twisted into a grin, teeth bared. Elder Wand outstretched, pointed at Dumbledore. But was he doing anything?

"Al!" the Doctor's voice shouted suddenly, from the castle; Dumbledore turned, an instant before a deafening, grinding sound filled his world. Still, the Time Lord's warning gave him a necessary split second more time to react; the wall of Hogwarts had been ripped away, brought closer by terrifyingly strong magic; not targeting Dumbledore specifically, yet still capable of harming him. The Elder Wand twitched in his hand.

Wordless, the headmaster raised his wand; the tip of the wood brushed the stone, so close. And an invisible pulse of energy was sent back, sending much of the jagged cut-out of rock back into the wall, sending a few lone bricks skittering off by themselves, broken.

Remarkably fast, Dumbledore span once more, casting another non-verbal spell as the Dark Lord attempted to catch him off guard; a momentary cord of light marked the contact. The dark fog continued to swell around them. The Hallows sent energy pouring into each other, powerful energy; all the more amplified by the unnatural Hybrid Technology present in the link.

"Stop this!" Dumbledore boomed; now almost angry as the Dark Lord broke the connection. His foe merely chuckled, bitter; sending forwards a mass of searing flame, monstrous faces rearing from the maelstrom, bellowing gouts of fire-

Albus extended his wand once more, sending out a tiny burst of light; and in an instant, the huge spell condensed into a hair-thin strand of power, joining wand to wand once more.

The shadows thickened.

Voldemort hissed. Paused. This time, he didn't immediately break the link; it gave him time to think. The cage which formed around them protected them from external influences, other spells and other sounds. And Dumbledore couldn't hurt him, not with his wand tied like that.

Direct spells wouldn't work; if they headed for the headmaster, then Priori Incantatem would effectively nullify them. Only the spells which worked through some other object had any chance at striking the wizard; like pulling the wall apart, or…

With a cry, Voldemort swung his arm back, as if throwing something, severing the link (Hybrid Technology heating up somewhat), and felt blindly gripped something behind him in a tight spell. A shout of exertion; and he uprooted a tree from the Forbidden Forest, throwing it straight for Dumbledore-

"_Avada Kedavra_!" The Dark Lord shouted, pointing his wand for the elderly man.

Just a split second had to pass, before Dumbledore died. Though he was old, his mind still worked brilliantly; he saw Riddle's plan before the killing curse had been cast. The tree was heading straight for him; so he needed to knock that away. However, he also needed to cast a spell at Voldemort, in order to create the link; which would be the only way to avoid the approaching killing curse. An ingenious stratagem, Dumbledore thought to himself.

The bearded wizard held his wand tightly; just in front of his body. Brute force was meaningless in this duel; thought was the key. And timing, especially right now. Time seemed to slow; the tree spiralled down, pointed straight for Dumbledore; green light whirled, heading straight towards him. Inescapably fatal; unless…

In just the right instant, Albus whispered a soft spell; lightning arced, the cord joining the Elder Wands came crashing into existence, the central bead suddenly flaring; closer to Dumbledore due to his planned lateness in responding. The sudden burst of powerful magic incinerated the tree.

Silence, save for the crackling of the connection. Their eyes met for a moment; glaring. They did nothing. Gave no sign that they were planning anything.

They were evenly matched; that much was known to every watcher. Well, normally at least. Yet now each wielded the most powerful wand. Voldemort fought with more caution than normal, scared by the loss of his Horcruxes; though he did not show it. Beyond that however, Dumbledore's withered hand, infected by the ring, weakened him; and Voldemort wielded Hybrid Technology, or at least a primitive form of it. The Dark Lord had the advantage.

Albus knew it; but he was not one to give up, not when Hogwarts was at risk.

He dropped his wand.

Tom Riddle paused for a moment, surprised at the action; steadying his hand quickly as the connection cut off. Then, whirling his wand, he threw a killing curse forwards.

Dumbledore raised his withered hand beside his whole hand; eye twitching as he focused. Wand-less spells were complex, usually undisciplined; young wizards managed them all the time, and despite the magic itself being mostly accidental, such feats could be replicated by advanced magicians.

A chunk of earth shot up, suddenly; a violent, jerky motion. Wand-less spells were anything but graceful; but it allowed him to bypass the paralyzing Priori Incantatem.

The dirt was vaporized; yet the spell dissipated. Before Voldemort could do anything else, Albus gripped the Dark Lord with the force of his mind, his magic; holding the pale man still.

Lord Voldemort froze where he was; wand outstretched, held in both hands, yet pulled millimetres out of his reach. The rest of him was frozen, as if in some prison moulded exactly to his frame. Even his robe couldn't flicker, force pushing inwards from all sides. And he couldn't respond with wand-less magic of his own; Dumbledore would be able to distract him in an instant. Utter concentration was needed for such spells.

The Elder Wand was just out of his reach.

"Ah, Tom, when was it you became Voldemort?" Dumbledore lamented, speaking softly; strain just audible in his voice as he kept the Dark Lord imprisoned. He was capable of killing him, at this instant; and the thought scared him. "When did you turn to this?"

'_Old man_', Voldemort projected his thoughts, some inverse of Legilimens; '_Stop your babbling._'

It was not a surrender, not by any means. There was suddenly a wail, rising up from every atom of the nearby world; a cry of agony, pain, utter excruciation. Or rather, the semblance of such a cry; Voldemort projected his thoughts, calling up all the pain he'd ever suffered; being ripped from his body, creating the Horcruxes… He felt it all once more, and emitted his pain like a siren.

Dumbledore's concentration cracked-

"No!" the elderly wizard shouted; commanding. Voldemort froze once more, not quite able to touch the Hallow. Force gripped him from all sides; wild energy, pulsing occasionally, held just in check by Dumbledore's wand-less spell. The elder wizard has both his hands lifted, palms facing the Dark Lord, withered hand trembling.

Voldemort stared across at his foe; Albus seemed sad, upset at the turn of events, regretting the need to fight. Whatever the case, Voldemort focused. He too was capable of wand-less spells; so long as Dumbledore didn't realize what he was doing too soon.

Seconds passed. Exhaling gently, Albus began to call up more power, seeing no other way out of this. Heat began to swell in the air between them-

A sudden dispersal of force struck the headmaster; a blow of energy striking the wizard back. Dumbledore fell to the floor, sprawling; doing his best to quickly stand once more.

The Dark Lord gripped his wand once more. The first spell he cast was a non-verbal summoning charm, bringing the other Elder Wand to his hand, making sure Dumbledore had access to nothing which could counter the next curse. Then, ecstatic, he pointed both Elder Wands at the headmaster of Hogwarts-

Albus Dumbledore gasped in effort, panting; performing one more, potent wand-less spell. Force battered Lord Voldemort, gripping him in a tight, invisible cocoon of energy; bringing both Wands just out of his hands. The dark lord had just enough time to focus for a brief second before the Hallows were taken from him; and turned, tips pointing towards the dark wizard.

The headmaster staggered up to his feet, hands raised in effort, holding the magical energy in check as he watched his once-student. His eyes closed in sadness, regret.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Dumbledore whispered, clenching his withered hand. The force began to increase, the Dark Lord's robes creasing.

Voldemort felt energy dig into him; pure energy, with no tangible substance behind it, yet it felt as if a huge fist was wrapped around him. He was not afraid; while the wizard loathed death, he had no reason to believe he'd face it now. If he could, he'd laugh; when he'd gripped both Elder Wands, for the brief instant before the meddling old man took them, he'd cast one more non verbal spell. A summoning.

Within the castle, the Doctor looked out, down; almost mournful. He knew Dumbledore couldn't die here; he'd die on the Tower, a year ago. Just one journey away, in the TARDIS; he'd seen it happen. A pity.

Some good had come of this though; before coming here, he and Dumbledore had gone back to the Forest, were Harry, Ron and Hermione lay lifeless. In the past; Dumbledore had cast a Patronus, guiding the Doctor's younger self to their bodies. They'd sparked of this whole chain of events; culminating here. The defence of Hogwarts.

Draco too watched the duel as it drew to a close. His upper lip was curled; he shook his head slowly, exhaling in a noise which was more akin to contempt than anything. Fear twinkled in his eyes however; yet there was also resignation. His eyes were locked on Dumbledore, impatient, shaking ever-so-slightly beneath his robes.

Scarcely a second had passed since Voldemort had struck Dumbledore to the ground; yet in that time, Dumbledore had gathered the power needed to win the duel, and was using it; pressing with titanic forces on the Dark Lord. And yet, before that second ticked past, the tables turned once more.

It came like lightning; a flash of orange lightning at impossible speed, past the Death Eaters from deep within the Forbidden Forest. It came to a halt by Voldemort; and still before the second passed, it spoke.

"_Exterminate_," slow, grating. And a beam of white/blue light shot from the Scientist Dalek's weapon, striking the elderly headmaster of Hogwarts.

He didn't even have the time to notice his killer. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's lips parted for an instant, in the shock of the sudden pain; and he fell to the floor. The magicks imprisoning Voldemort vanished; the Dark Lord stepped forward, laughing.

The Dalek stood by his side; eye stalk softly glowing.

And the headmaster of Hogwarts lay lifeless before the school's gates, the Dark Lord standing triumphant above him; gripping two Elder Wands.

Hogwarts stared out; appalled, for the first time honestly afraid. They had not expected to see the so-loved headmaster again, and now Voldemort had proven who was the stronger. Tears were shed; but there were no shouts, no cries. They had not even the energy for that.

Lord Voldemort had faced the only one he'd ever feared; and emerged, victorious.


	21. Wand of Elder

**Pretty much just one chapter left! I hope you're enjoying!  
>Very close to the end, so I'm being dramatic. A few monologues this chapter, a few more dramatic bits; and a few revelations. Probably surprising. A longer chapter than normal. <strong>

Draco was not shocked, not at all; quite a feat considering the utterly insanity rampant in the hearts and minds of the all-but petrified people around him. The sudden appearance of Dumbledore had thrown him slightly; he hadn't expected it. Yet beyond that, he watched, mostly neutral, barely blinking when the Dalek killed the headmaster.

A cry went up through Hogwarts; a cry of anger, and fear, of surprise, dismay; full of conflicting emotions. A wild frenzy of feeling, no one knew how to feel, let alone what to do.

The blonde alone was silent, resignedly staring out, over the battlements. Lord Voldemort stepped closer to the castle; the Dalek remained behind him. Its eyestalk drifted for a moment; from Hogwarts, to the wizard, and back to the castle. For a few seconds, the eye turned full circle, surveying the horde of Death Eaters also; before it moved to again observe Lord Voldemort.

"I have again demonstrated my supremacy," Tom Riddle did not speak loudly, barely above an ordinary speaking voice; yet with magic, it sounded as if he were beyond the shoulder of every defender of the castle. "Do you still fight? I challenge you to surrender. Decide where your loyalties lie; if you believe that," a ghost of a smile curled his lips, "Magic is Might, and would join me, then you may live. Be warned that I will no longer accept treachery."

Silent seconds ticked past. The Dark Lord looked up; partly despairing, partly angered. He'd expected the sight of their headmaster dying once again would change a few of their minds.

He still didn't understand love, even a love more akin to respect.

"So willing to die," Lord Voldemort shook his head slowly, whispering. He took a few steps back, and turned once more; to face the imposing castle.

Gripping the Elder Wand tight, he raised his hand; "You are now all beyond repentance," his voice was quiet. "A pity Hogwarts no longer trains its students to be wise."

He raised the Hallow, preparing to strike a fatal, Hybrid spell-

The castle gates slowly opened; just one pair, towards the front, and they only opened very slightly. Ajar. The Dark Lord hesitated; watching the gates and the shadow just within.

Several seconds ticked past. Every now and then, it seemed as though someone was to step out; yet they always hesitated. Flickering; unsure. A hand might appear, then quickly be retracted once more. Yet there was no sense of nerves; when the man at last came out, it was with only a mild unease.

It was the Doctor; he stepped out of the darkness, clad in bow tie, tweed jacket, and grinning widely. With easygoing, assured steps, he moved along the uneven ground, stopping some metres away from the dark wizard and inhuman 'ally'.

Defenceless.

"Hello Tom," he remarked simply; no trace of fear in his tone, yet unusually, also no trace of compassion. Then, slowly, he looked sideways, looking deep into the blue eyes of the Scientist: "Hello Dalek," his voice was brimming with contempt; and though his eyes never left it, the rest of his actions sounded indifferent.

"It is the Doctor," the orange Dalek grated to itself, raising its weapon a small way.

"So it is," the messy haired, bow-tie clad man gad a mocking, almost scornful laugh. "And I walked out here, no weapons, as always, no shield, no magic, and, here, catch!" he withdrew the sonic with almost unnatural speed, throwing it lightly forwards, watching it clatter from the Dalek's body; "Not even a screwdriver. So, what are you going to do?" he held his arms to his sides, open; "Most importantly, what do you think I'll do?"

The Time Lord's gaze was intense, focused on the inhuman machine, glaring down the eyestalk. The Dalek seemed almost to shrink back; yet it kept its weapon raised, pointed at the Doctor.

"_Daleks have allowed you to speak before,_" the orange Scientist grated, voice slow, neutral. The chilling monotone continued, matter-of-factly: "_This was in error._"

A split second passed; and without even its customary cry, a bolt of energy shot from the Dalek's gun, lancing through the air and instantly striking the Doctor's chest, exposing the bones beneath for a brief second. The Time Lord's eyes widened; he staggered back, arms and head beginning to shine with a golden light-

"_Exterminate_," the Dalek spoke, unnecessarily harsh: and another beam of energy struck the regenerating body, cutting out all trace of the light.

The Doctor's body fell to the ground; hair tousled, jacket covered in dirt. His body seemed whole, despite the recent view of the bones beneath the skin; and he wasn't moving. A second ticked past; then another. The Time Lord lay motionless on the ground.

"_The Doctor is dead,_" the orange Scientist Dalek at last grated, unsettlingly final. Emotionless; almost emotionless. It felt a trace of triumph; the Dalek's oldest and greatest enemy, their perpetual nemesis. Now lying dead on the cold, pitiless earth, his prized planet.

Hogwarts again rippled in shock. The headmaster had died; and now the Doctor had died, because of that orange, alien creature. Voldemort simply stood by, seemingly victorious; yet tense. Even he did not trust the Dalek.

A huge intake of breath: the defenders of the school could but stare at the lifeless man, unable to do anything to help, even if they dared. Then-

"I don't think so!" a magically amplified voice echoed around the castle; a grin was audible in the so-familiar tone, making everyone freeze; everyone stare up, unable to see the source.

Even Voldemort seemed to gasp, though he scowled also, looking up to Hogwarts; the Dalek's eyestalk raised.

"That was a Boggart!" the Time Lord gave a laugh, before quickly sobering up; "And it's told me one more thing, Dalek. For all your claims of being free of emotion, there's still one more rattling about in those metal heads of yours. Fear; fear of just one person. Me." A brief pause; the Time Lord inhaled. The Doctor-Boggart on the grass seemed to almost dissolve, fleeing by its own magical means. "Because of that," the Doctor continued, "Because of that, I'll give you one more chance. Just one. Leave now."

The Dalek's eyestalk stared up the castle, unable to locate the Doctor, unable to see where he spoke from. Still, it didn't need to say anything. It remained still; like a statue. Staring. Infinitely patient.

"No?" the Time Lord sighed; "Thought not. But remember that Boggart? It's not dead; you shot it, but it's not dead. Funny thing about Boggarts, there's only one way to harm them; only way to do it is with laughter. And that's one thing you Daleks will never manage, isn't it?"

The metallic creature said nothing. The eyestalk simply glared up the stone walls of Hogwarts, trying to locate the Doctor, if it could.

"Come on, say something!" the Time Lord shouted; suddenly louder, despite sounding as if he were enjoying himself. "Or can't you say anything? Want me to speak up for you?"

There was silence once more; yet there was something warning in the Doctor's tone. Something hinting; at something that should be obvious, that he and the Dalek both apparently knew. That only he and the Dalek knew.

"Don't ignore me!" Lord Voldemort interrupted the Doctor's one-sided argument. The pale wizard stared up the castle, wishing that he could see the source of the voice; unable to do so, he flung a curse blindly upwards, watching it dissipate upon striking the stone.

The Doctor almost seemed to tut; the noise, amplified, still only just audible. He wasn't angry at the attack, and neither was he disappointed; he sounded almost pitying.

"Oh, Tom," a sigh; "Back to regular old magic then, is it?"

The Dark Lord hissed at that, before bringing his wand back; ready to thrust it forward. "Nihil-"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence, if I were you," the Doctor's voice quickly interrupted the Hybrid spell; "It'll destroy Hogwarts, judging by how it looked. And you really don't want to do that; you really should hear what I have to say first."

Voldemort froze, something in the Time Lord's voice compelling him. That, and the way the Dalek's eyestalk seemed to momentarily flare.

Though the Daleks were free of emotion, that was still forgetting one thing: sometimes, fear was logical. No one wanted plans to be ruined, to be taken away and ripped to shreds by a few careless words. No one wants to encounter the devil and be forced face him; knowing all the while that he's won so often before, in worse straits.

So, yes. Perhaps the alien was afraid. Only in the sense that it did not want a certain set of events to come to pass. Yet that 'fear' soon died down; the plan could not be ruined at this stage.

"Speak then!" Lord Voldemort shouted, voice carrying up to the peaks of the towers. "Tell me!"

The eyestalk turned. Normal intensity now; all possible outcomes had been calculated, none of which posed a threat. And so, the Scientist simply surveyed, observed.

"Thank you, Tom," the Doctor's voice quietened for a moment; before returning, loud; yet calm, intense. "Hybrid Technology. You've got it, right? Whole new spells, cast via the Elder Wand, most powerful of all wands. And how powerful does that make you? How-"

"More powerful than you!" Riddle shouted, interrupting the Doctor. He was about to continue, when;

"Does it?" the Time Lord's voice drowned out the Dark Lord's. "How long did that technology take to build? How long for the spells to be programmed? Whole new spells, most powerful wand… And you probably noticed, we dealt with your little trap. The stones of Hogwarts are no longer under your control; now, tell me Tom. How could we do that? Yes, a bit of Hybrid stuff, sorry about that. But not much; it took a few seconds to make, and a few seconds to switch back to normal, and there were no new spells involved. No fancy Hybrid incantations. Just good old fashioned, regular magic."

There was a momentary paused; the Doctor inhaled, exhaled, catching his breath. Voldemort absorbed the speech; the Doctor found himself smiling. This was what he lived for. The times words alone could change the tide of a war, the times all it took was the right voice to make even the most evil wizard pause for thought.

"The Dalek isn't helping you," the Doctor resumed his speech, breathless. "It doesn't care about you! It's not giving you any knowledge for your sake, it's giving you a few spells to experiment with, nothing more. I've been on its ship, destroyed it too; do you know what was there? A crystal ball, a Hybrid crystal ball. That's all they're interested in; getting enough knowledge so they can do what they always do. Kill. It's all a Dalek cares about. Murder. Death. Extermination. Bit strange that it's helping you, but not unheard of. Gives you enough knowledge to keep you on a leash, but not forever. Why would they want to help you forever?"

Lord Voldemort hissed at that; finding himself oddly enthralled at the Doctor's words, the Doctor's voice. Unable to think of what to say in response however, unable to do anything except stand there, listen, as the Time Lord stripped away his already fragile trust in the alien.

All the while, the Dalek stood there, eyestalk staring at the Dark Lord, watching. Slowly, its centre also began to turn; gun and sucker arm facing the wizard.

"You're being manipulated, controlled!" the Doctor's words were like blows; the Death Eaters shrunk back, Hogwarts listened in pity and hate; Voldemort simply stared. Frozen. His grip tightened around his wand; one of the two Elder Wands. The other, displaced in time, lay by his feet.

"And how long do you think it will last, Tom?" the Doctor continued his impassioned plea, almost shouting; "How long? Daleks don't care about any life other than their own; and no matter what you've done, no matter how close you get, you are not a Dalek. Not 'pure' enough," the Doctor mocked Voldemort's own ideals, watching the dark wizard begin to shake in barely suppressed rage. "How much longer do you think it's going to bother with you, Riddle?"

"As long as I command it!" the Dark Lord yelled in rage and fury. Burning. Flames were almost visible, rising from his suddenly tiny form; he raised his Elder Wand high into the air; "Remember the prophecy! Only Harry Potter may slay me, and I have killed him. I watched him turn cold. None may stand against me now!"

For the first time, instability was audible in the Dark Lord's tone. As if he didn't believe what he said. Still, he shook, the anger within him enough to incinerate almost anything else; the ground around his feet was blackening, turning to ash at the force of his wrath alone.

Things were not helped when the Doctor found himself unable to do anything except laugh; as if he could find something genuinely amusing in the scene.

"The prophecy?" the Doctor's voice was as loud as a shout, every syllable emphasized; yet his mood was oddly calm. "Do you really think that means anything now? Why would it? The Dalek gave you time travel, I've seen it. And you used it; sent Bellatrix whirling back through time. Angels, Slitheen, Daemons… You've twisted time, wrecked it, torn it into tiny shreds. What possible relevance could the prophecy have now? What does this timeline have in common with the prophecy? Harry has a power you 'know not'. Marked as your equal. Those were the terms of the prophecy: yet you have a power Harry does not, you're no longer his equal. The balance was tipped."

Lord Voldemort's wand, still raised high in the air, seemed to almost tremble. The grass burning beneath him wilted, rage extinguished by icy reality.

"Dumbledore almost defeated you, didn't you notice? Even with your supposed Hybrid Technology. You're more powerful than most wizards, yes; but any of them could kill you now. The 'one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord', it could be anyone. Anyone at all."

The Time Lord's voice was softer now, all anger taken from the confrontation. He seemed pitying, comforting.

"You were afraid of death, weren't you Tom?" the Doctor was almost whispering, watching as Voldemort lowered his wand. "Most people are. But you tried to stop it, tried to make yourself immortal. Horcruxes, trying to find the prophecy… all to remove your mortality. And look what you've done; look what you've done Tom! You've made yourself all the more mortal. Made it so anyone, wizard or muggle, could kill you. You were afraid of death? You've brought it even closer."

The Time Lord at last fell silent, the unseen source of his voice falling quiet. He let the wand fall from his throat, removing the magical amplification as he caught his breath; and rand own the stairs, peering out a window, beside Draco, to see what Voldemort would do.

There was nothing more to say. Nothing more he could say. Though it wasn't a pleasant thought, the next move was Lord Voldemort's.

The pale wizard slowly turned around; and for a moment, he seemed almost human again. Wand-hand fallen to his side. The glared at the orange Dalek.

"You knew," no more than a whisper; a whisper shaking, burning with ire. "You knew that you were destroying all that I've fought for."

A moment of silence. A heartbeat; the Dalek's eyestalk did not move, none of the orange machine moved. It met the Dark Lord's stare; a stare which would inspire terror in any human.

"_Your fate is meaningless,_" the Scientist grated, slowly. The Dark Lord tensed.

One more moment of silence. Then everything happened.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Lord Voldemort raised his wand, bringing it down like a hip, lashing the Dalek with green light; "_Avada Ker Perago! Nihil Epir Seriz!_" the deadly, Hybrid curses rained down on the orange, metal frame; one after another, a barrage of them, repeated over and over. Each was cast in a split second, battering against the cold, orange metal. The Dark Lord shouted each, building up to a crescendo, roaring, wrathful, Elder Wand shining with preternatural, Hybrid light in his hand.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Lord Voldemort finished his blitz of curses, the green light momentarily flaring, blinding, before striking the Scientist Dalek; the green light dissolved to sparks as it struck the body of the creature.

And then there was silence. The Dark Lord stared, out of breath, anger temporarily sated as he stared at the alien. The lights seemed to have been extinguished; the eyestalk was dimmed, despite remaining, pointed towards the Dark Lord. And it said nothing; that hideous, grating tone was silent.

Lord Voldemort turned-

And in an instant, having been prepared for such an eventuality for so, so long, the Dalek lit up again. Eyestalk illuminated, and the bulbs upon its domed head lit once more for one more word: "_Exterminate_."

A bolt of pale, blue/white light. The energy leaped forwards through the air, striking the thin robes of the pale dark wizard.

The Horcruxes had all been destroyed. And now the Dalek completed the job; the skeleton of Lord Voldemort was, for an instant, revealed; and his lips parted, twisted into a scream. Agony.

He clung on to life, he desperately clung on, for once afraid, terrified of the blackness ahead of him. Lord Voldemort focused on reality, on the cold biting into his body, the burning pain of the Dalek's shot; he focused on life. One second passed; and he still screamed. He held on with sheer will power, amplified somewhat by magic, by the Hallow gripped in his hand. Everything he'd done was to avoid this; to avoid death, the ultimate, the unavoidable unknown.

Tom Marvolo Riddle screamed. And then fell silent.

He lay, motionless, on the merciless ground. The Dark Lord, the most feared dark wizard of them all, lay lifeless.

A hush fell on the castle; they should be celebrating, they should be cheering. But it wasn't time for that yet; they weren't free.

"The Daleks betray everyone," the Doctor murmured, softly, to himself. "In the end."

The Dalek turned slowly, eyestalk lifting to behold Hogwarts. Its central section turned; gun moving until it faced the castle.

"_Exterminate_," it again intoned; the Oncoming Storm was within Hogwarts. As were inferiors. The Scientist Dalek fired its weapon once; almost a warning shot.

"_Protego_!" Minerva McGonagall shouted; raising a barrier through a window slit.

The shield shattered; the beam of light barely hesitated. It pierced the recently repaired stone of the castle; one student could be heard screaming as death claimed them.

"_Maximum extermination,_" the Dalek grated, advancing the power of its weapon to the preferred set-up to destroy buildings. Now it had gauged the strength of the castle; it knew how much strength it needed to kill everyone inside it with one shot. With Hybrid Technology, it had the power to.

Draco Malfoy stared out from inside the castle; wand gripped in his hand. Then, tensing, scowling, he pointed his wand out the window; "_Accio Wand!_"

With astonishing speed, the two Elder Wands whirled up into the air, through the window; Draco dropped his current wand to catch them both, one in each hand.

The Doctor glanced sideways; incredulous. Malfoy didn't noticed, gripping one in his left hand, and one in his right; he was careful not to let them touch. Somehow he knew about the temporal effect of two versions of an object touching.

"Come on, you stupid stick," he muttered hastily; "One of you knows me, you know I'm your wielder. Tell the other. Tell it!" he whispered almost madly; and as the Dalek raised its weapon, poised to fire, the blonde rolled his eyes; and, snapping, he touched the tips of the wands together.

A spark of light; the Hybrid Technology fell off the future Elder Wand, incinerated as it hit the floor. The time differential shorted out; a tiny explosion as temporal energy whirled around the Elder Wands.

A bitter smile curled the blonde's lips; he felt a familiar thrum of power in each hand. The Elder Wand was his now; he knew, one already had been. Now with that spark, they both were. It allowed a small paradox too; a fact he was grateful for. The temporal energy would have fixed that. Or something; it was what he remembered being told.

"_Protego Totalum!_" Draco pointed the two Hallows out the window, raising a staggeringly powerful shield as the Dalek fired.

The Elder Wand had been resisting Hybrid Technology; it was more powerful than the crude type Voldemort used, and as soon as its wielder wished it to be pure, it had cast off the machinery. Now, two of the most powerful wand in the world raised a shield; a shield immediately struck by a powerful, mostly non-magical, Dalek shot.

It rippled; but held. Without using the full potential of Hybrid Technology (a feat of which the creature was temporarily incapable, without great changes), the Dalek could not break Draco's shield. The most powerful protection ever cast. Two versions of the same Hallow, raising a defence from the creature.

"Draco," the Doctor whispered; pausing to look out the window, marvelling at the swelling light as it resisted the perpetual assault of the Scientist. "Well, that worked. Good plan!" he patted the blonde once on the back, the Time Lord turned, beginning to head down the corridor, a plan bubbling in his mind; before instantly spinning around again. "Wait, what did you say?"

"Protego Totalum," Malfoy muttered in response, dry; almost bitter. The Doctor rolled his eyes, watching as Draco repeated the words, the incantation a second time; this time, instead of mocking the Doctor, to recharge the shield outside.

"You said you were the wielder," the Doctor's throat was dry, frantically thinking; and only able to come up with a few explanations for not only that statement, but the rest of the blonde's actions. None of them were good. "The master of the Elder Wand," he hesitated; "How?"

"Because I don't want to die," the blonde said simply; looking back out the window. His hands gripped each wand tighter. "Dumbledore told me the details. Not Dumbledore; but the one you'd call Dumbledore. On the tower, the day he died; he spoke to me."

O

_Lightning struck; the elder wizard stood on the edge of the tower, surrounded by blackness; piercing gaze looking inwards. Death Eaters surrounded him; a fight raged beyond them._

_Snape took a step closer; the bearded wizard raised a hand, recognizing what was to come: "_No, Severus, let the boy make his own choice,_" the greasy haired teacher stopped, slightly surprised; the pain in the headmaster's withered hand flared for a moment._

_Malfoy needed to do this. Gain the trust of the Death Eaters for one; that would be invaluable with what he had to face._

_Draco had one arm extended; wand held loosely. Shaking; fear was evident on his face. Thankfully, the Death Eaters behind him could not see it. Fear of becoming a murderer; but also fear of what would happen if he did not._

_The elderly wizard walked slowly forwards, hesitating just as he stared down the tip of Draco's wand. Then, just as slowly, he moved forward, passed the student's hand; and bent a little, beard brushing the boy's cheek as he whispered to his ear._

_As the elderly wizard spoke, Malfoy's eyes widened. Fear became increasingly resplendent in his expression: only to be replaced with resignation._

"I am not Dumbledore_," the man's voice was barely audible, even to Draco. It was momentarily muffled by a crack of thunder. "_He's going to die. He did die, when the Dark Lord attacks the castle. Next year. I saw it; just like you'll see it. Exactly like you'll see it. Dumbledore will try to defend Hogwarts, and fail. That doesn't matter. It's not important: this is important._"_

_A brief second of silence; the bearded man who wore Dumbledore's body raised his wand; a wand formed of wood from the Elder tree._

_"_The Elder Wand, the Death-stick,_" the wizard breathed, solemn; "_The most powerful wand there is. The master, the rightful wielder of this wand is unbeatable; except against those who are more powerful. And no one is more powerful; at least, no one should be. Hybrid Tech is though, but you'll hear about that later. The important thing, is that you are the rightful wielder; or you will be, when you kill me._"_

_The blonde stared, disbelieving, forwards; he did not turn his head, eyes simply staring past the shoulder of the bearded man. He could not take in all he heard; yet knew he had to. Though he did not close his eyes, he disregarded all that he saw; focusing instead on what he could hear. On what the wizard whispered._

_"_Another important thing: the Dark Lord. Kill him. Not that easy of course, nothing ever is. He's created Horcruxes, containers for part of his soul. There are seven in total; and you have to destroy them. There's one in himself, then there's a locket, a cup, a diadem, a snake, a sword, Harry, and a ring. Those last two will be destroyed by then, they don't matter, and I know you'll forget one of those by next year anyway. Just remember the rest. Easy enough, or should be. You're still a Death Eater, and you won't be losing that brand. It'll fade once the Dark Lord dies, but not for long._"_

_The elderly wizard again hesitated, drawing in breath; gratified to see the rapt attention that Malfoy was paying him._

_He wished that this moment wouldn't end; but he could see the battle still occurring behind them. The storm outside rattled impatiently. And the wizard did not want to die: but there was no choice. He hated inevitability._

_Time was still passing; despite the small bubble that seemed to surround him, time still inexorably ticked past. A pang went through his infected hand._

_"_That's almost everything you need to know,_" the elderly wizard paused, tense, "_You know what to do, and you should know how to do it. You'll get two Elder Wands later. Don't ask, it'll be obvious. When you do, touch them together. I don't know the science, it's just what I was told; temporal energy or something, it'll flare. That instant will allow a paradox, this paradox. One will already recognize you as its wielder; you need the other one to know you as well. As for the paradox, it starts now. This instant. When you kill me, the current master of the Elder Wand, you'll become the rightful wielder. Then the Doctor will take you back in time in that box of his, with Polyjuice. The only possibility. And you'll die, right here, right now_."_

_Draco stiffened at that moment, the elderly wizard's words starting to frame the truth, a truth that made the blonde shiver. Malfoy listened intently, hoping to be proven wrong. He was not._

_"_That's why you have to kill me. Because you know who's asking for it. When I step back, fire the curse. Do it. I'm poisoned, I'm going to die soon anyway; and I don't want to. I don't want to!_" for a moment, the elderly wizard's impassioned whisper seemed to almost become a shout. A shudder ran through him. "_What I want is to live for as long as I can, to live as much as I can. That's not how I'm going to live. That's not how you're going to live. I'd feel sorry for you, if I had any pity left. Don't look at me like that; when you stand here, you'll be feeling the same._"_

_At the revelation, the elderly wizard slowly stepped back; a slight inconsistency in his mannerisms now just noticeable. Draco stared into the eyes of his older self; filled with a mixture of awe and fear. It was one thing to see himself; it was another to kill himself._

_But apparently there was no choice. The blonde could but stare, forwards, as the second Malfoy moved back, to the edge of the tower, arms by his sides. Tense; hands clenched into fists._

_He still did not want to die; and yet that was a blessing. That instinctive resistance meant that he did not choose this death: given the chance, he'd avoid it. So this wasn't suicide, not quite: and the ownership of the Elder Wand would be passed on correctly._

_Draco Malfoy could but stare. And then: "Avada Kedavra."_

O

The Doctor's eyes rested on the blonde as he recounted the story; the Horcrux-venom afflicted hand occasionally spasmed. As Malfoy's speech drew to a close, the Doctor bowed his head.

"I'm sorry," the Time Lord whispered, genuinely regretful. "I'm so sorry."

Draco rolled his eyes; shook his head. "Don't be. What's the point? You're meant to clever Doctor, what's the point in being sorry? It's already happened."

The Doctor's face fell. Silent.

And outside, the Dalek turned away from now-lifeless Death Eaters to fire once more at the shielded Hogwarts.


	22. Recompense

**Dramatic finale time! Um, I'm not sure about the phrasing in some of this chapter, cut I hope you still enjoy!  
>Yep, so, this was Fate, seventh and finale part of my Doctor WhoHarry Potter crossover series. The Doctor's a lot of fun to write, as he's just so different to any other character there is. **  
><strong>Ahem, anyway, enjoy the finale! <strong>

The Doctor sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts. He didn't stop, didn't slow; the perpetual whining of the Dalek's weapon filled his ears. Even a barrier raised by the Elder Wand couldn't last forever.

Several students and teachers followed him; he didn't pay attention to the, not yet at least. Intent on his aim; breathless, running as quickly as he could, he stretched out one hand; clicked his fingers. Then, in one, fluid motion, he slipped into the TARDIS, shut the door without turning, and pulled a lever down.

A grinding filled the room; the TARDIS dematerialized almost in an instant, faster than normal. She seemed to pick up on the Doctor's urgency.

Upon leaving Earth and whirling into the time vortex, the Doctor fell back; sighing, breathless. He lay where he was, flat on his back with his arms and head dangling over the edge of the floor, for a few minutes longer.

He wasn't leaving Hogwarts behind, far from it; he just needed to come here. For one crucial reason; time. He needed time. Time to think, time to sort things out before he rushed towards the Dalek. In the time vortex, he wasn't part of events any more, temporarily removed; whenever he wanted to however, he could push a lever back up, twiddle a few dials, and land right back where he came from.

For now though, his mind raced. Thoughtful.

Voldemort had failed to kill the Dalek. He'd fired multiple killing curses, some Hybrid spells too; and they'd spattered out on the metal frame. So, the Dalek was immune to magic; or at least, immune to magic directed at it. Couldn't be immune to magic as a whole; else it wouldn't be able to use Hybrid technology. Hybrids were still composed, partly, of magic. But harmful magic aimed at the creature, that would fail.

Magic was out then. Maybe not completely; but if he couldn't hurt it with magic, then it became pretty pointless. What else was there? Look into the time vortex again and see how that went? Shatter the playground barriers to try and tap into the Archangel network?

Every idea he had resulted in some situation arguably as bad as letting the Dalek continue.

What was there? What else was there? A pause; a sigh. Well, even the TARDIS had weapon systems, somewhere, long lost. Deep inside, somewhere.

The Time Lord froze at that. If he let his thoughts wander for too long, it scared him what they came up with. Was he seriously contemplating murder? He was hardly a saint, but he didn't want to go that far.

He never carried a weapon. Or, if he did, he never used it to kill. Sometimes though, it seemed impractical: times like this. A hated Dalek attacking a castle, with no weaknesses, no machines, no Doctor-Donna or Void-stuff available. He might have been able to raise an army, had time not been too fragile to allow it: but even then, what could they do?

You couldn't trap a Dalek, well, not without tearing the universe open.

That was as far as he was willing to go. In the past, he'd come close enough to being a Dalek, or as good as. Willing to commit genocide, to wipe out a whole race just because he thought they did not deserve to exist. Mass murder. Even the death of one Dalek went too far, for him.

He'd never killed on, not after the Time War. He'd killed enough then.

Rose may have, and one may have taken its own life; he may have imprisoned some in the void, and may have watched as they killed each other: but still, he'd never murdered a Dalek. Not since the horrors of the War.

Even if he did come close.

The Doctor did not want to change that now. He was sick of death, sick of the perpetual murder. He was better than that: and it was never more important to prove that, than when he faced the abominations from Skaro.

Besides, he thought in a fit of darkness, death was too good for them.

At that, he sat up; grinning broadly, a flash of anger in his eyes. The Time Lord clapped his hands, standing to busy himself around the console.

He wouldn't kill the Dalek. He was better than that; but he could bring it close. Very close. Inescapably close. From that, it wouldn't hurt anyone, ever again.

O

In Hogwarts, Amy, Luna, Neville, Snape and McGonagall stood around the empty point on the ground where the TARDIS had once been. Draco watched from a few metres away, just behind them, both arms, both Elder Wands, outstretched; supplying what energy he could to the weakening barrier.

"Draco," Neville turned, walking closer to the blonde; the Slytherin turned, frowning, irate; understandably distracted. "Can I have one of those wands?"

The Gryffindor remembered what he could about wand-lore: it had been mentioned in one of his Herbology books, discussing why certain trees made for better wands. Loyalty and fidelity.

As the blonde reached out with one of the two Wands, Neville thrust forward with his, quickly casting a disarming charm; summoning both wands to his hands. Then, hoping he'd calculated and remembered rightly, gave one back to Draco; the one Malfoy was originally to give him.

"_Protego Totalum!_" Draco muttered, twirling his wand towards the barrier once, before turning, furious, to Neville; "And that was for what exactly?"

"Wand-lore," the Gryffindor said. Then: "I think. You willingly gave me that one; but this one," he waved the Elder Wand he now held, "I won from you. I'm the master of this one, you're the master of that one."

If it'd been a bamboo wand, Neville remembered a piece of trivia from the book, mastery would have been transferred as soon as the wand was given away, for whatever reason. An insect could become the rightful wielder; it was why wands of that wood were so rare.

"You're not the only one who can defend Hogwarts," Neville threw a shield charm of his own outwards; through his own wand as well as the Elder Wand.

An instant later, and the TARDIS reappeared; very quickly. The Doctor stepped out, holding a copy of the seventh Harry Potter book, with a bookmark most of the way through.

"Hello again!" the Time Lord was grinning, breathless. "Hurry up, into the TARDIS! I need you; magic-y people. Quickly!" the grating sound of the Dalek increased for a moment, emphasizing his words; "Especially you, Draco!" he frowned; "Or whichever of you has an Elder Wand. We really need one, I've got a challenge for you, and it won't be easy magic. Well come on!"

He stepped backwards, sideways into the blue box; hesitant, yet hurrying at the urgency in his tone, Luna, Minerva, Amy, Snape, Flitwick and several other nearby students (including Fred and George) followed him into the impossible TARDIS.

Draco began to move into the box; before pausing, turning to face Neville. The blonde opened his mouth to speak, gripping the younger Elder Wand; the Gryffindor interrupted.

"Just go, will you?" Neville muttered, holding his wand in a white-knuckled grip. "One of us needs to stay."

"Doesn't need to be you," Draco shot back; desperate. He knew that he'd be the one to go in the TARDIS; so that, later, he'd head back in time. That doesn't mean he wanted to; even though it was inevitable now, he still tried to avoid it.

"But it's going to be," Neville replied, resolute, turning away; gripping his Elder Wand tightly. The boy didn't look to see what Malfoy had decided to do; instead, he stepped forwards, back to the window slit and holding the wand tightly, strengthening the shield around the castle.

A few seconds later, and Neville heard a grinding; a wheezing. He didn't turned, continuing to stare out the wall. Perpetual effort.

The Dalek's assault hadn't lessened in the slightest. Once it had killed the Death Eaters, it turned its weapon back on Hogwarts, and fired. Such a small beam; yet Neville could feel its power; it sent shudders up through his wand.

Focusing, he raised the wand a little, tilting it; pointing it directly towards where the Dalek was shooting. A constant stream of clear energy emanated from the wand; moving slowly, carefully, Neville raised his own wand alongside the Elder, whispering '_Protego Totalum_', and sighing gratefully as the shield continued to hold.

Still, it wasn't quite enough; now there was only one Hallow feeding the barrier, the Dalek was perpetually teetering on the brink of shattering it. There had to be some way to make it easier…

The creature raised its eyestalk, locating the source of the defence. A pause; it calculated all its alternatives. Then, rapidly, it raised its weapon; pointing straight towards Neville.

A ripple ran through the protect charm as the beam struck a weaker part of the dome. Neville's eyes widened for a moment, and he quickly raised his hand, focusing the barrier on where the Dalek fired.

Constant focus. Constant vigilance, as Moody would say; Neville chuckled at the thought, before falling silent, remembering Moody's fate.

"Hey, you!" the Gryffindor shouted sideways, catching a glimpse of someone. "Do me a favour? Blast this wall. I need to get outside."

The plan was beginning to form in his head: from here, too much energy was being expended in casting the shield over such a long distance, over a larger area. If he could get closer…

Longbottom watched as a Sixth Year stepped into view; and, frowning, obeyed. "_Reducto!_"

The wall in front of Neville crumbled to dust; the Gryffindor nodded his thanks, murmured the Protego incantation again, and leapt out. The Sixth Year instantly ran forwards; murmuring a charm to halt the momentum of the boy's fall.

Neville frowned as he felt himself land; softer than he'd expected. Ah well; he turned his head up, yelling a cry of gratitude, before standing up straighter, turning, facing forwards.

The Dalek faced the castle; and he was in the way. The shield stood between them.

The Gryffindor's brow furrowed. "_Protego Totalum,_" he whispered again, pushing the shield further away, closer to the metal creature. The Dalek remained still, impassive. Its eyestalk tilted down once, to see the barrier, before focusing back on Neville.

The shield touched the Dalek's sucker; and then drew inwards, smaller. It required less power that way; Neville took a step forwards, until his outstretched wand-arm was almost a metre from the alien.

The shield shrunk further; until it was barely the size of his palm, and pressed directly over the Dalek's gun; preventing any light from escaping it. Neville tensed, focusing on that point, making the protect charm as powerful as he could.

Hogwarts watched behind him; holding its breath.

Neville Longbottom reached forwards with one arm, holding his wand out, focused. Clear energy emanated from the tip, forwards; straight into the Dalek's weapon. It fired back, the eerie glow visible, shining from the barrel; but nothing escaped.

Neville gripped his wands tighter, feeling the Dalek's shot continue, as powerful as ever. He wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

O

The Doctor stood by the side of the door, just inside, as the nearby wizards and witches entered the TARDIS. There weren't too many, only a dozen or so; but they should be enough. Hopefully. The magic he had planned wouldn't be easy.

With a last glimpse out the door, he winced. Remembering the sense the Ood had attuned him too, he tilted his head; and saw burning. The same, impossible fire came from everything; every shard, every brick of stone, the earth, the sky; even the people outside.

Still burning? The Doctor hesitated for a moment, before, slightly distracted, shutting the door.

"Well," he announced, running up to the console, ignoring the newcomers as they looked around the interior of the time machine, awed. Amy stood by the side, breathless, pale, trembling. "I spoke to JK," the Doctor grinned, beginning to play with the controls; "Managed to get a set of coordinates off her. Well, from her mind. Same thing. It's a useful reference point in Deep Time; without this, we wouldn't be able to get there, or get back."

"Where would this be?" McGonagall spoke, the first to get used to the interior of the box, apart from Draco; they'd seen it before.

"Death!" the Doctor looked up, grinning; "Well, Limbo. So named because it's got a very low door. If time had continued as it was meant to, Harry would have come here once the Horcrux in him was destroyed: not quite Death itself, but close enough. Inescapable, unless you know what you're doing, or have ties to life. Seeing as we've just left life behind," a shudder ran through the time machine; the people within grabbed hold of something to stay upright, "We're going to have to rely on these coordinates. And if I'm right-"

The TARDIS landed with a crash, the whole machine juddering; and the doors swung open without the slightest touch. The wood wobbled loosely, looking strangely insecure; and outside seemed to be King's Cross Station. Unnaturally pale.

"I can't go outside," the Doctor's voice was suddenly solemn as he clapped his hands; "I don't die, I just regenerate. Mostly. That's not my place: but you can. Just go out there, and summon. Just summon; call the Dalek here. It won't be able to leave Limbo without the coordinates, and only I have those."

Luna Love-good, Minerva McGonagall, Fred and George Weasley, Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, Amy Pond and several other students (whose names were not known) left the confines of the TARDIS. The Doctor watched them from within; he walked to the threshold of the time machine, watching what was outside, and wanting to be near them.

"A simple summoning charm, I presume?" Flitwick squeaked, twirling his wand in one hand.

"What else would you suggest?" Snape drawled, withdrawing his wand.

"Well," Fred Weasley spoke, "We are running a special on cross-apparating hats-"

"Put one on and-" George continued

"You end up where the other is," Fred finished, grinning

"Just six sickles for a pair, and ten for two sets. A Galleon if want an on/off switch, we'll take orders just as soon as we're back at Hogwarts," the twins shared a grin.

There was a brief, momentary silence. Some considered how best to tell the Weasley twins that this wasn't the time for advertising; while others wondered if you could apparate from life to limbo or vice versa. Before anyone could speak however:

"Do you think the Dalek would wear a hat?" Luna mused aloud, apparently giving the matter serious thought. "I don't suppose it would fit easily…"

"Enough chit-chat," Amy interrupted; "The clock's still ticking. I think. Get summoning!"

Another momentary pause; the wizards and witches looked at each other. An odd group. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and even redeemed Slytherin, who'd have hated each other had time run as it should: the manipulation of the timelines caused by the Dalek, it had also caused this.

Working together, just as the Sorting Hat had wanted.

Accio!

They each cried the word, focusing on the orange shape, the image of the creature. Each of them remembered it; channelled the idea of the Dalek into the spell, calling it across the barrier of life and death.

The Elder Wand shook in Draco's hand: one of the Deathly Hallows. It parted the veil between worlds; reality seemed to fray, coming apart like fabric before them. A translucent, faded scene slowly appeared, becoming more and more real.

It was Neville; wand outstretched, and seemingly duelling the Dalek. Every few seconds, sparks came from the creature's gun, pale blue/white energy. It seemed to be struggling against something, pushing against some unseen barrier within the weapon itself. Neville's grip on his Elder Wand tightened.

Those in Limbo repeated the incantation; Accio, doing their best to call the Dalek. Flitwick flicked his wand upwards, Snape glared to the translucent sight before him, Luna seemed to focus on the real world, McGonagall raised her second hand to hold the hilt of her wand; Fred and George each held the other's hand, concentrating together.

The summoning charm was almost tangible in the air; sensed more than seen, a clear fog, permeating the pale light of Limbo. The stones of King's Cross faded away, to be replaced by the cold ground, the corrupted earth: the Dalek gained increasing solidity.

For a moment, its eyestalk turned away from Neville; sideways, straight towards the wizards and witches in Limbo. The light flared.

"_Exterminate_," the alien grated: the weapon turned, pointing towards Draco, to start with-

And again failed to fire. Neville's protect charm blocked any shot the creature could make: releasing a shared breath, the summoning continued.

"Doctor," Amy murmured, stepping back until she was close to the TARDIS. "If we keep summoning it, won't the Dalek end up here?"

"That's the plan," there was an edge of worry to the Doctor's voice. Amy picked up on it, continuing her thought;

"But then, whatever's stopping it from firing at Hogwarts, won't that stop?"

"Yeah," the Doctor murmured, drawn-out. "That's a small problem. Still, same solution as always."

"What's that?" Amy murmured, quietly watching the immense magicks weaved before them, rippling the fabric of reality. Her hand wandered backwards; and grasped the Doctor's lightly.

"Run!" the Time Lord smiled, squeezing the redhead's palm. Then, a dark smile; "If I'm right though, we won't need to."

Amy rolled her eyes; yet said no more, just watching. The magicians had formed a semi-circle, Draco at the centre, beside McGonagall. He held out the Elder Wand, the station all-but gone now, replaced by a blurred image of Hogwarts. The Dalek was closer; Neville strained to hold back its shots now. It was too far away; and moving further, and further-

A beam of light escaped the weapon, as Neville faded suddenly; even Hogwarts vanished, replaced by the illuminated, clean King's Cross. The Dalek remained where it was, turning to face the semi-circle, energy shooting directly from its gun.

The shot dissipated after scarcely half a metre.

"You're still not here!" the Doctor shouted from within the time machine, staring out, forwards: straight into the orange Scientist's eyestalk. "I think that gives us time to talk, don't you?"

The semicircle of wizards and witches had no part in the conversation; they were too involved in their magic, focusing entirely on the summoning. Even Luna seemed less dreamy, and Fred and George bore serious expressions.

_"The Oncoming Storm has nothing to say to the Master Race,_" the Dalek grated, yet did not look away. It fired once more; the energy again dissipated. Its metal body flickered; still just insubstantial, between Limbo and life.

"Maybe not, but that's your own fault," the Doctor rolled his eyes; "I just want to make a suggestion. Try for some remorse. That's all; regret what you've done. I think it's all you can do at this stage. Try it: say 'sorry'. Or is that beyond the 'master race'?"

A pause. Silence. The Dalek's eyestalk glared; the weapon swivelled, until it pointed straight towards the Doctor.

There was a noise akin to a thud; the ripples in reality immediately straightened out, the hole in the veiled sealed over. The Dalek had been pulled through; from life to Limbo.

"_Exterminate_," it grated, firing a jet of unavoidable light, straight towards the Doctor-

It struck flesh. Pale flesh; metres away from anyone living. A ghost, if it could be called that; someone more substantial than a ghost. No one that anyone knew, though the Doctor seemed to recognize him, an elderly man.

It began with that; quiet, soft. The man took the shot and didn't wince, simply looking up to again behold the Dalek. A flicker of recognition.

And then they all came; all of them. They came from the light, the ground, the emptiness of the air around them. Ghosts, spectres; the dead. Pulling their way into limbo Everyone wronged by the Daleks, everyone ever slain by the genocidal race: the ghosts came like a gale.

They were solid, unusually. Substantial; so it seemed. Yet the only creature they ever touched was the Dalek. Person upon person pulled themselves from emptiness, formed from the soft illumination of King's Cross, or rising from the ground, gliding from behind the TARDIS… Every possible place, everywhere that existed for metres around them was suddenly filled with the dead.

Those slain by the Dalek race. Drawing inwards, like a whirlwind, a hurricane; leaving the travellers untouched, yet centring around the orange Scientist. It lasted a matter of seconds; a gust, a flurry of wails.

The Dalek gave what could only be described as a long, agonized, grating scream.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the Dalek and the dead were gone, as if they'd never been there; King's Cross, unnaturally clean, sprawled out, empty, around them.

And then more ghosts arrived. The living stared.

"Rory!" Amy gasped, voice on the verge of silence; barely a whisper. Her husband walked oddly casually over the pristine, shining ground.

The rest of the dead heralded silence. Harry Potter himself also appeared, disorientated, surprised. His mother and father stood behind him, and Ginny was beside him; her mother walked with them also. Snape could but stare, wordless, at Lily. Draco moved forwards, towards Harry.

"Amy," Rory smiled, as if he were ignoring the rest of the world, as he walked towards his wife.

Limbo continued to shine gently; white light emanating like fog from each pristine surface of King's Cross Station. When they first appeared, the dead shared this similar glow: yet as the seconds slowly ticked by, this faded until they were essentially identical, in looks at least, to anyone still alive.

"Good to see you again," Amy murmured, barely audible. Tears were audible in her voice, if not visible in her eyes. She wished she knew what to say, wished there was something she could say. This could well be the last time she saw Rory.

"Yeah," her husband suffered from the same thing, the same sense of silence. What could you say? How could you fit superlative emotions into plain, hurried words? "I- Amy…" Rory fell silent once more.

"I don't want to go," Amy whispered. "I wish I could stay with you."

"I-" Rory was about to agree, say he wished Amy could stay too; yet he caught himself. He didn't want to pressure her. Amy's choice, always Amy's choice. "So long as we meet again. Sometime."

They'd only meet again when Amy was dead. The words hung unspoken in the air, tremulous. It was too long to wait.

"We'd better," Amy mumbled, meeting her husband's eyes. She lifted a hand, hesitant; blinking as she brushed Rory's fore-arm. He existed here; existed properly. She could touch him. "Goodbye," Amy Pond whispered, a tear falling from her eye.

"Bye, Amy," Rory's voice cracked. "Have a good life."

No one smiled as she stepped closer; their lips met, Amy closing her eyes, trying to lose herself in the kiss. Her hand ran through the back of Rory's hair; holding him there.

She didn't want to let go.

Across the emptiness of Limbo, a matter of metres which looked like a gap between world, Draco stood opposite Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived smiled with lifeless lips.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy murmured, trying to sound as he had before; uncaring, almost cruel. He failed; he still felt emotion, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. One hand trembled.

"Malfoy," the black haired student spoke, above a whisper. He wasn't sad, not at all; "You're afraid now, huh?"

The blonde looked up; surprised.

"You told me," Harry was somehow able to smile; "About a year ago now. When you died, or will die. Time's strange."

Draco blinked. It hadn't occurred to him that his future self would be here also; even considering that his future self died in the past. Frowning, Draco looked up, peered around the station, looking for a trace of blonde hair. "Did…" Malfoy's voice trailed off.

"You didn't come," the scarred boy shook his head; "Trying to keep yourself nervous apparently. You can't want to die, otherwise the Elder Wand won't give its ownership away."

"And you?" Draco paused. "Did you want to?"

"I didn't care," Harry shrugged. "Now though, I'm happy. Everyone's here; my parents, Ginny…"

Silence fell. Within the TARDIS, the Doctor finished setting coordinates back for life. Breathless, he turned; ran back towards the open doors, but again did not step through.

"Come on!" he shouted; "We need to get you lot back to Hogwarts."

Another pause; silence again. Many of the students and teachers moved slowly towards the blue box; Draco hesitated.

"See you soon," the ghost of Harry murmured; and with that sentence, he did seem to become regretful. His friend was going to die: and though Harry did not regret death, Malfoy seemed to. At least, initially.

The blonde nodded; then, slowly, turned to enter the TARDIS.

Amy and Rory stood close, in each others' embrace. Reluctantly, their lips parted; Amy stared into her husband's eyes.

"Bye," Rory mumbled, a lump in his throat; he didn't want to cry, didn't want to hurt Amy any more.

The redhead couldn't say anything, for fear of falling into tears. Wordless, she turned; ran into the TARDIS. The doors swung shut.

Silent, Rory could but watch, motionless, as the oh-so familiar blue box stood there. The light atop it flared for a moment, bright, before-

The door opened once more; the Doctor stood there, grinning. "I cheat sometimes," he shrugged, muttering to himself, before calling out: "Come on, Rory!"

Mr Pond met the Time Lord's eyes, surprised, a tear on its way down his cheek. He didn't move, didn't speak.

"Come on!" the Doctor shouted, extending a hand; "I don't care if it's impossible. You know, I reckon if I can keep the balance, we might just be able to do this."

Wordless, Rory Pond walked slowly along the pale stones of King's Cross, into the TARDIS. It dematerialized, heading back for life.

O

The Doctor was alone in the TARDIS again. Rory and Amy were in Hogwarts, Draco had been left, reluctantly, with Polyjuice potion in the past. Everything seemed settled: except for two things. And the Doctor was only certain of the first; the second was just a niggle, a feeling at the back of his mind.

Balance: he'd mentioned it earlier. Life and death struck a very precarious balance; and Rory had been taken from death to limbo, and then life. Now, the Doctor had to fix the balance.

He left the TARDIS floating in the time vortex for what felt like hours, motionless. The doors wide open, revealing the eternities outside. He'd calculated that, in a little time, something should…

The Sword of Gryffindor, ruby ablaze and baled, impossibly, rusted clattered to the floor of the time machine, through the open doors. He'd flung it into the time vortex, intending to alienate it from Voldemort: and here it was, aged an impossible amount, picked up by his TARDIS once more.

The time machine landed. The Doctor held the Sword, the last Horcrux, in one hand as the doors opened.

On the pale floor before him, a strange creature lay. A husk, almost child-like, red, scarred; it looked as if it had been burned. It peered up through pitiful eyes, pain-filled, half-made. Somehow, the reddened, fleshless face was recognizable.

"Tom," the Doctor murmured from within the doors of his time machine. "Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. Here you are," the Time Lord paused, thinking of how best to phrase this. "You tried to help. You didn't succeed, but you admitted that you were wrong, at least on that one count. You tried to fight the Dalek. Even if it was for a bad reason, you tried to help.

"Born from a love potion; constructed love. Fake love. Do you even know what love is? If not for your actions, I think the world may have pitied you.

"I'm not pardoning you, don't think that. I doubt anyone ever will; but I also doubt you care. It doesn't matter. I don't need to agree with you to feel sorry for you. And at least you've done some good in your life. Even if it was for anger's sake, you tried to defend Hogwarts."

There was silence. The pitiful husk on the ground hissed, lifting its large head a few centimetres from the floor; crimson stains marked the stones that Voldemort's shattered soul had touched.

"And no one deserves this," the Doctor whispered; "Living in such pain. You were human. For better or for worse. I'll never agree with what you've done, and I'll never pretend to understand. But I will forgive you. If that's what it takes. You tried to do some good."

A pause; a moment of silence. The husk lifted one, feeble hand. Drip.

"So, Tom?" the Doctor spoke gently, lifting the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand. The ruby burned. "Is that what you want? Not to be accepted, never to be pardoned, but to be allowed to die in peace? I'd say it was a second chance, but I don't know what you're going to face."

There was silence. The Doctor had forgiven the Master, and had tried to forgive Davros. He'd given every single foe he'd ever faced a chance: and now he stood above the suffering, weak, broken Lord Voldemort. The fragments remaining of his torn soul.

He had the chance to forgive; had the chance to be merciful.

The once-Dark Lord strained to sit up; and his heavy head nodded once. The fleshless body fell forwards, and hissed. The closest to a scream that the pitiful form could give. A trail of red covered the pale floor.

Within the police box, the Doctor reached forward: and touched the silver tip of the Sword to the red skin. The Horcrux, containing a fragment of the man's soul, brushed its owner; and light began to shine.

Darkness to begin with, dark fog emanated from the blade. Then red; then green and silver. Paler and paler, until white bathed the shattered soul; and the tiny husk began to change. Though it could not clearly be seen through the light, the body could be seen to extend, growing-

When the light had faded, Tom Riddle lay on the ground. Recognizably human; nose, slightly darker skin, normal eyes. He seemed to be about to speak; and his eyes were no longer serpentine. His soul was no longer shattered; and he was able to feel the price of all that he'd done.

It was said that anyone who bore Horcruxes could put themselves back together if they felt remorse, if they felt genuinely sorry for what they'd done. What wasn't said, was that this was unavoidable: should their soul be remade, the fragments would burn as they fitted together, and once the soul was complete, the person would feel. Not just feel as normal, but feel what they'd missed, feel the sense of completion: and know how much they'd taken, torn away.

In Riddle's eyes, a new emotion was present. Sadness. Pain. No longer Voldemort; no his soul was complete. But he was not redeemed, he was not accepted. Merely forgiven by the man who forgives all.

And the light took the completed soul away.

O

The Doctor was in Hogwarts. Relaxing. He sat on a classroom bench, between Amy and Rory. Balance had been maintained; while releasing Voldemort had never been his first choice of actions, the sending of the repaired soul deeper into death was enough to counter the act of bringing Rory, once more, to life.

Silence. Just calm, happy, silence.

And then the Doctor sat bolt upright.

"Doctor?" Amy murmured quickly, sitting up beside him; her voice was interrupted even as it spoke by the Time Lord.

"No!" his eyes widened; "A Dalek allying itself with Voldemort? Even you humans aren't that unlucky. And the Burning!" his eyes flashed for a moment; and he again saw the impossible flames emanating from the stones of the castle around him. "'One Man's Mistake', the Ood said; one man. I always thought it was Tom, but the flames were still there when he died. And he's dead now; but it still burns. It's someone else!"

The Doctor thought madly; scanned through every possible alternative. Why would Daleks, of all creatures, end up helping Lord Voldemort? He was human, they wouldn't trust him. Wouldn't help him. Unless there was another reason.

It'd be more logical for them to help those in Hogwarts. At least the students were unlikely to fight back, well, not to the same degree: not with the same anger?

So…

"Someone else is behind this," the Doctor spoke, eyes widening. A pause. Then: "And I think I know who."

* * *

><p><strong>By the way, I was joking. This wasn't the end! One more chapter to come after the semi-twist. I hope you enjoyed. <strong>


	23. The Heir of Slytherin

**Last chapter! For real this time. Apologies if you can find formatting issues, Microsoft Word has crashed utterly on my computer so I had to write this in the FanFiction editor. **  
><strong>I do have a few stories planned after this, but I might not be able to write them for a while if Word refuses to work. Still, enjoy!<strong>  
><strong>Warning: this chapter will include some archaic terminology. They're needed, as will become apparent, but if you're curious to know what they mean, I've included a mini-glossary towards the end, for the more obscure. You don't need to understand them really, meaning should be clear by context, it's just there to help.<br>Anyway, enjoy! The (real) end of Fate!  
>Longest chapter yet too! Well, I think... Wasn't expecting it to be, but oh well. <strong>

The Doctor stood in the centre of the Chamber of Secrets. Stone snakeheads forced their way out of the floor around him, and shallow water surrounded it. The Basilisk's skeletal frame lay discarded, alone.

The Time Lord stared forwards; into the painstakingly detailed carving of Salazar Slytherin's face. He could feel a prickle; an innate sense. Something was here, something strange, unseen. Silent, he lifted one hand; lifted the sonic screwdriver. A buzz of green.

A pocket dimension; created by advanced, dark magic it seemed, sealing away any natural laws, laws of space or time. A bubble, a sanctuary: outside time, and just outside of space.

The cause of all this was here; of the Dalek, Hybrid Technology and all that it entailed. Here, in this impossible room.

The room didn't exist; that was the first thing the Doctor noticed. The second thing, was that it did. A strange mass of contradictions, natural laws being essentially suspended by evil magic.

It was a small, square room. The walls were made of the same, aged stone as composed the Chamber of Secrets; and the opposite end of this mini-dimension stood a man, wand held in one hand, drawing complex signs in the air. What amounted to computer screens covered the wall in front of him; screens created by magic. He watched all that happened outside, or at least, what he wanted to watch.

From behind, the Doctor watched this stranger. He had no hair adorning the top of his head; leaving it bare, slightly blemished and fairly pale. Grey, speckled hair was visible around the sides, thin and greasy; close to his face, yet visible over prominent bones and sallow skin.

He lifted one hand, waving it over one of the magical screens. The hand was pale, almost grey; it resembled more the hand of a corpse than the hand of a living man. Blackened, murky silver rings were around two fingers.

The wizard wore black; a deep sable, the only untarnished part of him. Robes. They seemed somewhat archaic; baggy around his elbows, triangles of fabric moving out from the sleeves, covering the tops of his hand. An equally dark collar rose, covering much of his neck.

And then he turned.

Human: unmistakably so. His head was hairless until thick, speckled grey eyebrows; and they rested atop deep-set eyes. Each rested in pits of darker skin, and he rarely blinked. Glaring. It seemed as though those eyes had remained open for many days; yet he did not seem tired. Merely irate, with those sunken eyes glowering.

Below, there were prominent cheekbones, and moving backwards, a thin layer of hair grew from almost the level of his eyebrows, down the sides of his face; forming a thin beard which fell the length of his concealed neck. It was pointed, severe; as sallow as his flesh.

His lower lip was bare; emphasizing what was perhaps the brightest part of his frame. Lips of a shade which seemed almost unnatural, paler than blood: thin, and curved. Not smiling, and not frowning.

Around his neck hung a thin, silver chain; culminating in a tarnished gold octagon. A locket; green emeralds formed a serpentine S.

"Another hath at long last found these four walls," his voice was indescribable. Indifferent, yet snide; confident, not a drawl, and not a monotone: yet almost emotionless. If anyone else had spoken, one would expect to see their lip curl; this man did no such thing. His eyes spoke all the emotion he deigned to show. No fear, no anger; barely even amusement.

"Yes I have," the Doctor replied, simple. He didn't move yet; but prepared himself for taking a step forwards. "Can't say I'm that surprised to see you here."

"Ah, he believes himself to be clever," the wizard spoke once more, examining the Doctor as if he were a specimen. "Withal what does he come?"

"Nothing," the Time Lord shrugged lightly; his manners were the exact antithesis of the man.

While the Doctor moved openly, expressively, the other stayed almost completely still. His hands rested above his waist; if he turned, they'd be just level with the magic he'd raised; and he moved nothing, save for his lips; and, every now and then, his eyebrows twitched.

"I don't need anything," the Doctor spoke lightly; realizing the gravity of the situation, yet doing nothing about it. He gave everyone a chance; even him. "Well, I've got a screwdriver. But I don't think that's what you mean."

Perhaps it would've been better if the wizard had laughed at that; even if he'd cackled. Yet he did not. Just silence. Cool, calculating silence.

"I am astonied," the wizard spoke once more. Neutral. "Perchance he has divined my name?"

"Of course," the Doctor paused for a moment. He wasn't grinning now; he was serious. "Salazar."

"He has!" the dark wizard's eyes lit up. "He is no fool, then. He descries the dead."

"Dead? Nah, you're not really, are you?" the Doctor was smiling now, enjoying the challenge to his brain. "Even if everyone thinks you are. If my history's right, you left Hogwarts once they decided to accept more than just Pure-Bloods. You vanished; well, they thought you did. That right?"

Salazar Slytherin's lips curled, for the first time. Almost a smile; not quite enjoyment however. He'd left such feelings behind.

The parselmouth had secreted himself inside his chamber, centuries ago: and, it seemed, was able to constructed this place. This little bubble, a pocket outside of the normal flow of time. Theoretically possible: after all, ancient wizards had been notoriously better at such grand magicks. The Department of Mysteries was filled with examples; perhaps none more striking than the Time-Turner.

"You know," the Doctor mused aloud, "I almost didn't figure out it was you. Nearly a good job, Salazar. It was only when things kept coming back to Tom that I figured it out; Heir of Slytherin, right? Your heir. You wanted to give him help: you gave him a Chamber and a Basilisk, but didn't want to stop there. Ooh, divination, am I right?"

Slytherin said nothing, turning back to his magical screens. He'd spent years in this pocket; just years however. He controlled how it interacted with the rest of time: decided when to touch the real timeline, and aid his Heir.

"No, don't look away!" the Doctor called; "I'm interested. Let me know if I'm getting it right," Salazar did not turn; but he slowed in his work, listening. He had not even secured the Doctor. "You saw Tom was in trouble and wanted to help. But, no, you couldn't just stick to plain magic. You wanted to give him power, real power: more than everyone else. So you scanned the universe, hm? The whole cosmos. Tried to find the best race you could to help. The nearest and most powerful; only it didn't go so well, did it? Whatever ritual you did, it summoned the Daleks to help, and yes, it worked to begin with. But they were still Daleks."

For a moment, the old man's fist clenched. Then released; only gentle. It had been the only display of emotion that the wizard had made.

"A wise race warned me about this. They said everything happened because of 'one man's mistake'. I thought that man was Riddle, but no; it was you. Right Salazar?"

Slytherin now no longer spoke. He remained silent, not quite ignoring the Doctor, merely refusing to acknowledge. He tilted his head; peering up. One screen suddenly flickered to show the Dalek: displaying it as it shot Voldemort. The scene replayed once, twice, pale blue light flickering from it: Slytherin clenched his fist once more. Rage.

It was then that the Doctor became aware of murmurings: the dark wizard mumbled to himself, quiet, thoughtful. "No, they were no of no use. Perchance that… No. Another may work in their stead. May I perforce them, or merely persuade? So many may rise. Possibilities. Moonshine. Were I to…"

The Doctor stopped listening to the soft, almost meaningless murmurs, looking back up to the screen: other races, other species now appeared on it. Ones which, presumably, Salazar was considering calling to help Voldemort.

Even now, he hadn't stopped. In such a time-immune bubble, he could go back; prevent the Dalek from coming, and replace it with something else. One of the creatures which now appeared on the screen.

Even the Doctor didn't recognize them all. Some were familiar: a serpent-like being, a man shining in pure light, something reptilian, a Daemon, an insect, a Sontaran, a creature the Doctor forgot an instant after seeing, yet couldn't shake a sense of familiarity… And they beyond that, creatures even the Doctor hadn't seen, nightmarish blends: perhaps conjured by magic, perhaps temporal abominations, erased from the timelines.

"Stop this!" the Doctor raised his voice; having had enough of Salazar ignoring him, of consider which race to play with next, which race to enslave. He took a step forwards; "You can't just-"

The Doctor's voice was cut off as Slytherin murmured dismissively. "He doth rantipole." A flick of the wizard's wand: and the Doctor found himself pressed against the cold, murky stone wall by unseen forces. Magic.

Salazar flicked his wand casually, causing the magical screens to flicker, each displaying strange glyphs, ancient writing. Archaisms; not surprising. More alien races flickered along the upper screen.

He was playing games with alien races. That's all it was. If he failed, pick up the pieces and start again: banish the Dalek, banish all it achieved, the good and the bad, and call something else, and something else. Continually: until the Heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort proved victorious.

Until Muggles were extinct and Pure Bloods, pure humans, ruled the Earth: and judging by the extent of Salazar's sight, perhaps far more than just this world.

Another race appeared on the screen; the Doctor strained to push himself forwards, pushing against the magical force which pinned him to the door.

"No! Salazar!" the Time Lord shouted, trying to pull himself away from the wall: "Stop! It's not going to work, surely you can see that? You're just bringing more and more aliens to Earth, more and more danger, more and more threats. You saw what the Dalek did, what do you think the next would do? I found you here. What if they do? Whatever creature you're planning to bring here, whatever help you want to get from it: just don't. It won't-"

"He believes that one wayward beast signifies a lack of control," Slytherin spoke seemingly to himself; yet it seemed he expected the Doctor to here. He did not even do the Time Lord the favour of acknowledging his presence. "How little is it possible to know? I control the serfs I summon. This one proved froward. The next will not. Troth. Perhaps he intends to scare me. Then he will learn I do not fear."

"Listen to me, Salazar!" the Doctor shouted again; any trace of good humour had gone from his voice. "It's not that easy, it's just not. Any life form will fight back: doesn't matter what you do. Even if you try Imperius, some humans can resist it. Whatever aliens you call here, they certainly will. Of course I'm trying to scare you! But only because there is something to be scared of!"

At that, Slytherin paused, the flickering screen hesitating on the image of a strange, gaseous creature: visible only by the dust it animated.

"Perchance he speaks sooth," Salazar murmured. Perhaps he was smiling cruelly; the Doctor could not see. It certainly sounded like it: though it was always hard to tell with this wizard. "And perchance he is weak. When he blenches, I may smile. Is he afear'd of ants?"

"Will I have to stop you?" the Doctor spoke again; eerily soft. The fury of a Time Lord. His voice burned.

Salazar Slytherin slowly turned around; and now he was smiling. The dark wizard flicked his wand once; the unseen manacles binding the Doctor tightened, flexing, making sure the Time Lord knew of his imprisonment.

"Now he doth threaten," Salazar's eyes appeared amused. "A portent of doom? He appears lacking. I wonder if he is capable. Could he perchance kill? He bears the semblance of a man of peace, and did not strike me down even as I stood undefended."

For the first time, Slytherin met the Doctor's eyes.

"Could he kill me?" the Founder was mocking. "Has he ever killed? Does he kill? Could he ever kill? Is this man capable?" the parselmouth's eyes bored into the Doctor's: "I wonder if he knows how murder feels. Does he know of power, and does he seek it? Ah, why would one so weak threaten me? Tell me, has he killed?"

Slytherin's eyes drifted. They stared upwards at the ancient stone; and back down to the Time Lord's eyes. His gaze continued; only now, Slytherin appeared to express some new emotion. Some kind of scathing awe.

"I see that he has," their eyes stayed locked together. "Yet he is still weak. How can a man be so tiny? He bears knowledge yet does not understand, and knows of death yet holds it back. Ah, why would one neglect power?"

Slytherin shook his head slowly. In principle, if not reality, he seemed to be tutting: either disappointed in the Doctor, or amused by him. The dark wizard turned slowly around, back to his screens; once again ignoring the trapped Doctor.

"Listen to me, Salazar," the Doctor cried out once more: he preferred to settle things with words, but what could he do against a man who didn't even do something so simple as listen?

"Ah, the fool still speaks," Slytherin continued to murmur to himself. It was strange; he expected no one to hear, and he barely even acknowledge the Doctor's presence, yet he continued to speak. "Does he seek to convince me withal but words? I may find such counsel in books or scrolls. Perchance he is an idiot. One possessed of keenest sight, yet an idiot nonetheless." He appeared satisfied with this conclusion.

The Doctor continued to strain against his magical bonds, ignoring the casual insults. The screen continued to flicker; multiple aliens now appeared there, and though the Doctor recognized many, he still could not recognize them all. A pelican-like creature, shrouded in fog. A faceless being in a sable cloak... Those that he did identify made him try all the harder to get Slytherin's attention.

"What is it you want?" the Doctor tried, desperately. "You don't need to hurt anyone! I know, I know, you want your Heir to succeed, but why? How about I take you to another world? I can, you know; take you to a world where they might share your views, or views as similar as you're going to get. You'll live, you might even flourish. Just, please, stop hurting the Earth! If you bring any of those creatures here, do you really think they'd help? Don't just dismiss the Dalek as 'wayward', anything called to Earth will resist. They won't make the distinction between Muggle and wizard. Please Salazar! Voldemort can't win; and even if he could, it needs to be by the terms of the prophecy. You won't be able to get anything else to help him. Didn't the Dalek prove that?"

Slytherin made no acknowledgement of the Doctor's impassioned plea. The wizard simply, occasionally, glance upwards: beheld the screen. Images were repeating now, the wizard pausing on a few that sparked his interest, reading illegible text on a black circle of magic below.

Cybermen, older Daleks, the Mara, Ice Warriors... Spiders and jellyfish and humans and wolves and gods. Whole hosts of creatures from the Doctor's past; and then there were more. The dust creatures, once-organic beings now composed of gaseous prosthetics, huge squids; great krakens of an alien world's sky, indescribable monstrosities: some beautiful, some repugnant.

The Doctor tensed at several he recognized. And at those he did not, those impossibly rare creatures perhaps from other dimensions or simply incredibly well hidden, he still felt a spark of fear. It seemed as if any of those creatures might dominate the Earth: and if it was somehow impelled to obey Voldemort, the consequences did not bear thinking about.

"Please, Salazar, stop this!" the Doctor shouted once more, pulling desperately on his unseen bindings. Oh, if only he could escape them. "I could take you to another world. Uninhabited of course; but you could rule that. Make it as pure as you want, make it look however you want. Just, please, stop this now!"

Slytherin still did not turn, have no sign that he'd heard; yet his mumblings changed.

"He intends to compel me. Ah, but the most puissant silvertongue could not dissuade me from purity. Yet he claims to be capable of removing me from this world. Such things may be common in the mind of a fool, but perchance he speaks sooth..." the dark wizard's voice trailed off; he flicked his wand once.

The upper screen immediately changed. Instead of scrolling through the images of monsters, it showed Earth: jumpily, it zoomed in, whirling around the planet. It was hard to focus on the individual images, yet Slytherin seemed to have no trouble: the display slowed after almost a minute, by which time the wizard's murmurings had ceased.

It showed the TARDIS. The blue police box, immeasurably old, in a variety of scenes. In an immense desert, in a field, in a manor, or inside ruins. The light on top slowly illuminated, and dimmed, flashing; and the box vanished. Or, on some occasions, it reappeared; and the Doctor, in various bodies, stepped out of it. Until, at long last, this Doctor could be seen to leave it: clad in a tweed jacket and bow tie, looking around a new world and smiling.

The screen froze on that; and, still silent, Salazar tapped his wand on the magical image. More text appeared, scribed on the air below him by a neat, stylish hand: the Doctor could not quite read it, yet it seemed to be of some interest to Salazar.

"So, he is called Doctor," the wizard murmured; thoughtful. "He belies himself. A fool who travels the winds of time may be no fool at all. Craven. Such powers he bears, yet he neglects to use them. Perchance he will do as I bid. Though he speaks of resistance, I see he as one who may be compelled."

"Salazar, no!" the Doctor wasn't scared; yet he did sound desperate. Normally he could talk to people, reason with them enough to either convince them to stop, or kill him. One of the two would be nice around now: yet neither applied to Slytherin. The parselmouth was utterly indifferent, uncaring.

"He durst resist," At this, Slytherin turned; and now his sunken eyes glared at the Doctor. Unblinking, unfeeling. It was hard to believe that he was human; yet, unmistakably, he was. Perhaps that was the worst thing. "It is sooth then. he is but a fool. All men break, even Lords."

The dark wizard lifted his wand; flicked it. Once. Instantly, the murky, tinged green stone of the chamber seemed to ripple; distort. The Doctor blinked, shivering beneath his magical manacles; and gasping as he felt them release. Falling forwards, the Time Lord hit the cold floor; and peering up, he froze.

Slytherin had gone. Now the Doctor lay alone in the surprisingly small chamber, the pocket dimension. Well, not the same dimension, at a guess: for a human of his time, Slytherin had discovered a remarkable amount of dimensional physics. It must have helped being able to examine and part them with magic: at present, the Doctor lay a tiny dimensional hop away from Salazar.

So, now he was alone. The Doctor stood, looked around; there wasn't much to see. Just four small, ancient walls, a floor and a ceiling. Slytherin must have managed to banish him here with magic; the same (or at least a similar) way that the Doctor had entered the first bubble dimension. Now however, the sonic would be useful. The Chamber of Secrets was Salazar's own place, and apparently where he'd built in the entrance and exit to this dimension. Here however, this tiny bubble-prison, the Doctor had been shuffled along to it, and could only be taken back on Slytherin's whim.

Well, the Time Lord reflected, that could have gone better. Sighing, he sat down, rested his back against the cool stone. And waited. And waited. Time seemed to pass unbearably slowly.

Stagnancy. The silence was perhaps the worst thing; no dripping of water, no distant murmur, no inexplicable scraping. Just silence. Empty silence. The Doctor closed his eyes, softly leaning back against the wall. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Every now and again, he tried something; unsheathed the sonic and tried to stimulate the dimensional rip, buzzing, exploring the room with that small green light. Nothing. he was trapped, as he suspected; utterly trapped. Slumping, the Doctor collapsed against the wall of the inescapable room.

Nothing to do but wait. And wait; more and more. Waiting. Waiting. Seemingly eternal waiting. The Doctor might've screamed if it'd do any good. Seconds may have past, or minutes, or hours. Maybe a day or a year. No way to tell: he room was the same, and his alienation from normal time meant he barely felt any different.

He was alone too. That fought with the silence for being the worst. Not only was there no one there; but even the TARDIS was struggling to connect to his mind. Aside from the void he felt in that corner of his mind, Salazar's speech also emphasized that fact. Normally, even archaisms would be translated: yet now, a dimension away from time and the TARDIS, a dimension from the real world, the translators struggled to work. They made a somewhat valiant effort; but struggled. The TARDIS shouldn't be struggling. Maybe she was trying to get through; but to break the barriers between dimensions, especially a magical dimension such as this, one that ran counter to the laws in the normal world, it would hardly be easy.

Alone, surrounded by seemingly infinite silence, the Doctor could but wait. And think; though even thought soon became dry and meaningless. Why had Salazar forced him here? That was obvious, from his last words. To break him. Slytherin didn't have to do anything. Just wait in his own bubble until the Doctor next crossed his mind, and then call him back; and due to the loss of any real time in these pocket dimensions, he could be called back years from now.

He didn't age. Didn't eat or need to, didn't drink or need to. He didn't even sleep: he couldn't. This could be an eternal prison. There was just the waiting; and the worry. Had he been forgotten about? Would it be seconds or years until he was called back to Slytherin? Would he ever be called back?

He didn't know how long he was there. Maybe it was years. The lack of any marks, or any sign of weathering; the lack of time, in a sense, it was impossible to tell.

Then the air rippled; the stone distorted. Relieved, breathless, the Doctor stood up, just steadying himself as Salazar Slytherin again came into view. How much time had passed for the dark wizard? Evidently, very little. Those deep-set eyes still looked the same. Examining, indifferent.

"Hath he discovered troth?" Salazar mused, murmuring to himself once more; cold, unfeeling. "Doth he wish to abide for days more? Shall it be years then, before he obeys?"

"Don't," the Doctor reached out a hand, breathing heavily. "Just, don't. I just want to talk; or, if I have to, stop you."

In all honesty, the Doctor dreaded it. Salazar had left behind crude means of torture: from what he'd seen, it would be well within the wizard's power to make that dimension burn with agony, leave him in perpetual excruciation. Yet, instead, he left the Doctor with nothing. just void: and that, perhaps, was worse. You couldn't fight nothing. Pain gave you something to resist, gave you an enemy: pain could clean your mind, pain you could eventually adapt to. And he could handle pain. Such emptiness however; it was more than boredom. It was isolation, perhaps days, weeks, months, centuries of isolation. Inescapable.

"Ah, I am once more astonied," Salazar's cold voice once more sounded: "He durst threaten. He can not fight and nor can he kill. What moonshine is this? Perchance he desires the ability," Slytherin raised his wand; and drew a pale blue line in the air.

The magical line shimmered for a moment; before shrinking, coalescing, until it seemed tangible: still glowing. It formed a shape; pointed, the size of Salazar's fore-arm; slowly, the light dimmed. It was a blade; oddly crude technology for such a place. Chipped, imperfect, the sharp edge appearing like jade. A emerald rested in the silver hilt. Slytherin levitated it through the air, slow: and forced the Doctor's arm up with a charm forced his fingers open.

The Time Lord's fingers were forced to close around the cool hilt of the blade. The charm binding him had long since been rescinded: Salazar forced him forwards with a silent charm.

"If he wishes to kill, then let him," Salazar now smiled; striking lip curling upwards, eerie. "Does this Lord believe himself capable? May he look me in the eyes and kill me? Is he powerful, or craven? May I descry method to madness, does he belie power? I challenge him to end my life. I challenge this Lord to take my life."

The Doctor was forced into position by Slytherin's magic: he froze a step from the dark wizard, his arm raised, gripping the blade, holding it against Salazar's heart. And then the magic compelling him left; he stayed in position. Force prevented him moving back; there was no such limitation on moving forwards. A little force, a few centimetres, and the conjured knife would pierce the Founder's chest.

Salazar Slytherin met the Doctor's eyes. Glaring, unremitting. It was one of the few times Slytherin had acknowledged the Doctor's presence; and yet now, he did not speak. Those sunken eyes stared; urging the Doctor. Insofar as they expressed any emotion, they expressed loathing. In his eyes, the Doctor was weak for being unwilling to kill.

Perhaps he underestimated the Doctor: but perhaps not. He gambled everything, for fun: because to him, it was not a gamble. he had gauged the Doctor perfectly, and knew the Time Lord's unwillingness to kill in such a fashion. So he gave the Doctor a knife, held it to his own heart; and trapped the Doctor with magic. He could move only one way; could only move the blade forwards. Into Salazar's heart.

Slytherin didn't need to say anything, didn't need to mock. This wasn't for the purposes of mocking; this was for something between fun and curiosity.

The Doctor could not bring himself to do it. And he wasn't ashamed: Salazar appeared to be trying to make him so, but the Doctor was proud. He wouldn't, no matter how hard Slytherin forced him. Perhaps he'd even spend time in that empty hell the dark wizard had concocted. Resolute, the Doctor gripped the hilt of that silver blade, palm covering the emerald. He. Would. Not.

Perhaps almost a minute ticked past. And then, resisting he somewhat weaker magic barrier that Salazar had raised, the Doctor stepped back. He stepped away from the Parselmouth, moving through the spell as if it were treacle: and he dropped the weapon. It clanged once as it hit the cold stone floor; and dissipated like mist in the wind.

"Ah, it is sooth then," Salazar murmured coldly, indifferent to the Doctor. It was as he had expected; he'd put his life on the line, knowing he'd be safe. The Doctor shivered suddenly, frowning; something in his mind tingled. He felt as much as saw Slytherin meet his eyes; the dark wizard's eyes glared, almost ablaze. Perhaps, for the first time, he spoke directly to the Doctor: "Coward."

And the Doctor grinned. The Founder didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't frown: his eyes continued to glare. The Doctor wished he could guess what was going through that indifferent mind.

"I'm a coward?" the Doctor tilted his head; now openly smiling. He met Slytherin's gaze with ease. "You sure I'm not just 'craven' now?" Slytherin frowned: to his ears, it sounded as if the Doctor had repeated himself. "TARDIS translators, handy little things," the Doctor tapped the side of his head, grinning. Slytherin did not understand, yet the wizard did not show it: "Don't just work on languages, they're pretty handy with archaisms too. Most of the time. Sentence structure, odd phrasing, yeah, but you hardly ever hear a 'thee' or a 'thou'. Lovely, small little things. And you called me a coward; you didn't say I was craven. And if I'm a coward, then that means your lingo's hopped forward several years. It's not like you Salazar, to just start using a whole different lexis."

The Doctor withdrew his sonic screwdriver, twirling it in his hand; pointing it at the dark wizard like a wand, clicking it once. A momentary green light; Slytherin, too distracted by the Doctor, didn't notice the magical screens flicker.

"Ah, the fool babbles," Salazar hissed, turning once more. he casually flicked his wand back; pinning the Doctor to the stone wall. The Time Lord still grinned. he sonic screwdriver, dropped, rolled abandoned along the stone floor.

"'Babbling' now? That's new too! The TARDIS is connected to your little bubble, whether you want it to be or not. And that gives me so many more options. I could just lie here, listen to you ramble on, and watch you rewind and send Tom more allies," the Doctor nodded at the magical screen: it had settled on one more race. Cybernetic humans; metallic, impassive faces, teardrop eyes. "Cybermen next, is it? Like they're going to listen to you. But anyway, I'm just going to warn you one more time. Listen to me; don't do it Salazar."

Slytherin paid no attention. He turned back, examined the magical screens. Then, ignoring the Doctor's plea, flicked his wand once more.

The whole room was illuminated in a sudden light; for less than a second, yet there light was unmistakably there. A light brimming with magic and information, crackling with energy; and it rushed upwards, to the distant sky, a dimension away. The Doctor's face fell; yet he did not seem afraid.

"Sorry Salazar," the Doctor had just enough time to say. And then the room began to shake.

It wasn't a minor tremor; it was like an earthquake. More than an earthquake. The walls themselves shuddered, the whole dimension shook, as if held in the paw of some titanic beast. A crack ran through one wall; and the wall was blown away. Beyond it, there was just another room, the exact same. The walls continued to crack, shatter, dissolve: nothing new appeared however. Just more and more of the same. The chamber grew, larger and larger, expanding to accommodate something, it seemed: the spell holding the Doctor back vanished, as Salazar focused his attention on protecting his bubble. The magical screens flickered away; the image of the impassive Cyberman vanished.

"What have you done?" Slytherin demanded, at long last speaking to the Doctor: those sunken eyes glared. The Doctor didn't smile; he met Salazar's gaze, unflinching. Dark, sad, resigned.

"I did nothing. When I sonicked? that was just a signal. I was giving you a helping hand, that's all. The TARDIS got the message, and amplified the signal: that Cyberman ship? It's coming, just like you wanted. Oh, it's coming: but they managed to read one more little thing from your message. Did your message include some variation of the Imperius curse? Well, that was left behind, they didn't get that, sorry," the Doctor winced; an almost guilty look. "They did get one other thing though: just one. Coordinates."

If it were possible, Slytherin's face paled; more so than it was. For the first time, the Parselmouth acknowledged the Doctor, referring directly to him, responding directly to his actions. He still displayed no emotion, not openly; yet was that a twinge of fear?

"They found the source of the transmission," the Doctor continued: a shrug. "You wanted the Cybermen, you've got them. They're coming here. Right here. Well, almost," the Doctor winced again, yet this time it was not comic. It was resolute, unforgiving: "Of course, they don't have the technology to move into a bubble dimension. But the TARDIS does," around them, the continually expanding chamber, the air began to shimmer. "Right now, she's opened a portal right into this dimension, right up in space where the Cybermen can see it: and they can detect the transmission coming through. And, you see Salazar, they're a bit like you. They think they're better than everyone else because of a little more power. You believe in Pure-Blood supremacy: they believe in Cyber-supremacy. And you must've been watching them a while before deciding to call them, you know what they're like."

The shimmering air around them began to solidify: shapes in the light. Metallic shapes. Transporting down through dimensions, bound to take a little longer. But still breaking through.

"I'm sorry, Salazar," the Doctor murmured, kneeling down to pick up the sonic. Slytherin seemed too aghast to speak. "But I tried to warn you. You did this," the Doctor's voice was oddly dark. Unsympathetic, even: if that were possible. "You were surprised that I didn't kill you. It's because I don't want to, I try not to. What's the point in murder? Take you, you could have been so wonderful. The students in your House, some of them, they're geniuses. You, you're a genius. Creating a little pocket outside of time; now that, that is impressive. If I'd killed you outright, the world would have lost a marvellous mind. I didn't want that: but when I have no choice..." the Doctor's voice trailed off.

The Cybermen at last solidified, the light condensing into their sleek, clean metal bodies. They brought their fists back against their chests: a resounding clang. And then they turned; Salazar was the first person they saw, the source of the transmission which, for want of a better word, offended the Cybermen.

_You will become like us._

"I'm sorry, Salazar," the Doctor murmured, once. A pair of Cybermen appeared either side of him; faced him. Extended their hands, aiming their weapons, firing-

It took them less than a second to fire: but the Doctor had already clicked his screwdriver. He'd planned that way out for so long: the sonic was keyed to the frequency of the dimension's entrance and exit. Turning it on, he'd slipped through a ripple, leaving Slytherin's pocket dimension behind and falling, sprawling, to the stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

The Doctor stood quickly, turned, and ran.

Half a minute later, and he'd barrelled through the TARDIS doors. Amy and Rory stood from where they'd been sitting, just inside, in surprise: the Doctor ignored them. Instead, he ran to the TARDIS console, pulling a few levers, hitting a few buttons, occasionally just generally whacking the console; until the portal was deactivated, closed down.

Time hadn't changed; Salazar hadn't been able to manage that. Not quite, though he might've if the Cybermen hadn't arrived unexpectedly. And now he was trapped in that eternal chamber of his. With the Cybermen. The Doctor winced, shuddering at the thought of that fate: before stepping sideways, peering into the scanner: it showed the Earth once more. The Cybermen ship.

It was departing. Not equipped for an invasion, it decided not to stay. It might be back, some day; but that day was far from now. The source of the transmission had been neutralized, and several 'inconsequential' Cybermen had been lost. For them, that was the problem solved.

If only things for him could be so simple. The Doctor sighed.

"Well, that's that," the Doctor clapped his hands, smiling and stepping back: Amy and Rory stood up, frowning at him. the TARDIS lights dimmed, the Doctor sighed. "Well, mostly. Opened a dimensional portal, that's a drain on the poor thing," he tapped the console fondly. "Still, sounds like you two could do with a holiday, a day or two in Hogwarts," he shrugged; "I guess term time's over anyway. And you, Rory," he turned to Amy's husband, staring, almost accusing: "Try not to die, ok?"

"Um, I'll definitely try," Rory responded, hesitant, slightly caught off guard.

Nodding smartly, the Doctor smiled; and stepped outside the TARDIS. With just a quick, cursory glance around, he satisfied himself that the burning had been extinguished. Then, smiling, hands in his pockets, he went out to wander around the castle. Shrugging, amused, Amy and Rory followed.

Soon, they were in the courtyard, where wizards and witches roamed. the younger years were returning, satisfied it was now safe; McGonagall as Acting headmistress (and possibly soon-to-be permanent headmistress) helped order things, waving her wand, doing a remarkable job of keeping things under control. The time travellers smiled across at her.

"Hey," Neville walked up to the trio, almost shy. He looked up; "My Gran wants to meet you guys. To thank you. I don't suppose you do being thanked, do you?"

"Not normally," the Doctor confessed, "Still," he was smiling, "I think we can make an exception. So long as she doesn't slap me. Where is she?"

As Neville lead the way across to a tough-looking elderly woman, more and more students continued to enter Hogwarts school. The year wasn't over, though it was unlikely that they'd get any lessons in. Everyone was buzzing: the gossips were already starting, elder years making up grand, dramatic tales of the parts they'd played in the fight, mostly entirely fictionalized. Others constructed ghost stories, naming staircases or rooms cursed by the Death Eaters as they fought. In the girls' bathroom on one floor, a tap leaked.

Who knew what adventures awaited Amy, Rory and the Doctor tomorrow? For today, they could but wait on Earth, wait in the castle and on the world they'd saved. Maybe stories would be told; at least, told in the wizarding world. Rumours, tales, myths, legends. The eccentric man and his two companions, telling of how they'd defended and saved Hogwarts school. Or perhaps they'd be forgotten, fade into obscurity. Who could say what the future held?

For now, however, they were content. What more was there to wish for?

_Glossary  
><em>_Withal: with__  
>Astonied: astonished<br>Descried: discovered  
>Moonshine: nonsense, in the sense of fantasy-like ideas.<br>__Rantipole: wild, roving. Romping or rude.  
>Serf: peasant, but used to refer to slavesservants  
>Troth: loyalty<br>Belie: give a false impression  
>Durst: dared<em>

**Anyway, that's it for the story! Whew, been a long one...  
>Hopefully you enjoyed it, including the final confrontation. I know Salazar's voice was inconsistent in era, that was intentional, just to say. And hopefully it wasn't an anticlimax, I wanted someone who you'd know, but who gave me a little bit of freedom with characterization. Um, if you enjoyed the story, let me know!<strong>

**And yep, well, that's all folks! The real final chapter, world saved, etc etc. Hopefully suitably dramatic. Thanks for reading!**


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